The Truth Behind Forever
by Nico Morrison
Summary: Erik has lived longer than anyone on earth...yet has found no resolutions to his life. This is the story of one immortal man's quest to claim the happiness he has always been denied. Rating for language and future sexual situations. COMPLETE
1. Eternity

_Hello! I'm back! _

_This is a BRAND NEW phan-fic…has nothing to do with my others…so get them OUTTA YOUR HEAD! (Or go read them now…lol)_

_This story will be slightly supernatural, but still as realistic as possible. It is set in modern times with an eventual E/surprise guest reunion…you'll have to wait to see who, but I bet you can guess!_

_Standard disclaimers apply. I do not own POTO. I take a lot of creative liberty and have a writing style some people find "choppy." If you can get past those things, then we're gonna have a good time!_

_As always, ask and ye shall receive! _

_Enjoy_

_Nico_

Erik believed he was the only person in the entire world who truly understood the meaning of "eternity."

His fingers swept over the glistening ivory keys of his newest purchase…a magnificent black grand piano. His mouth tugged into a slight smile as he struck a note, appreciating the satisfying sound that resulted.

Musical instruments were one of the few things in this world that were made better with modernity.

As if to give an example of the antithesis of improvement, an airplane could be heard somewhere overhead, shaking the walls of Erik's lavish mansion with an irritating rumble.

The sound was followed with another annoying noise…the ringing of his nearly ancient front door bell.

He grumbled, standing up from his piano, stretching muscles that had no need to be stretched.

Erik made his way down the winding staircase of his home, approaching the enormous front entryway with an unhurried pace. He pulled the heavy latch open, squinting as sunlight streamed into the darkness of his home. Standing on the marble porch was Edwin…Erik's accountant for the past ten years.

Edwin smiled broadly, walking into the foyer. "Erik," he greeted his client in his usual chipper voice. "How is the land of darkness and despair?"

Erik sighed, closing the door behind the red-headed accountant. "I am in no mood, Edwin," he replied, turning to face Edwin.

Edwin wore what Erik had come to accept as the standard costume for the working man in the year 2005…a long, heavy black coat, a hideous black pin-striped suit complete with shiny black shoes and an equally unflattering pressed shirt underneath. A tie was knotted at his throat, dark sunglasses hid his small blue eyes, and a celluar phone was attached to his waist.

Erik particularly hated the electronic phone. He hated the jarring tones that seemed to constantly interrupt a smooth-flowing conversation.

"Ah, you're never in the mood," Edwin replied, placing his leather briefcase on one of the gilded tables in the foyer. "It's a shame, really," the accountant continued, unlatching his briefcase and pulling a thick packet of paperwork from the inside. "Especially at this time of year," he concluded, handing Erik the paperwork and clicking a pen for his use.

"This time of year is no different from any other," Erik replied, signing several papers after scanning their contents.

"It's nearly Christmas, Erik," Edwin replied, watching as his strangest client signed his name over and over, almost angrily. "I think you're the only person who remains unaffected by the beauty of this season."

"Beauty," Erik scoffed, handing Edwin the completed paperwork. "There is no beauty left in the world," he added bitterly.

Edwin sighed. When he had first accepted the strange recluse standing before him as a client, he had been frightened by the man who always wore a gleaming white mask. Erik was persistently morbid, almost always negative, and nearly completely cut off from society.

Edwin pitied Erik. In the past ten years, he was always alone. Edwin knew that the only time Erik left his bleak home was when he took in a performance at the Paris Opera House. Even then, he would arrive after the overture and leave before the finale. Rumors flew across Paris each time Erik appeared in Box Five, the only suitable seating in the entire Opera House, as far as Erik was concerned.

Being the most eccentric man in Paris's accountant had it's benefits, though…Erik paid him well…so well, in fact, that Edwin could survive solely on the salary Erik provided.

It completely compensated Edwin for the aggravation of addressing the questions that arose from nearly everyone who knew of Erik's existence.

The most common of which was about the mask…the ivory presence that was seemingly the root of all Erik's gloom.

"Is there anything else?" Erik asked, his right eyebrow raised.

Edwin shuffled and cleared his throat uncomfortably, realizing that he had been staring at the mask for an inappropriate amount of time. "No…no that should do it," Edwin replied, placing the paperwork back into his briefcase. "I'll be delivering these to the Opera House personally today, it's on my way to the airport."

Erik nodded.

"I'm going home for the holidays," Edwin continued, although Erik did not ask for an explanation.

"Safe travels," Erik replied cordially, walking back over to the entryway.

Edwin followed slowly. "And do you have anything planned, Erik?" He asked against his better judgment.

Erik's eyes widened a bit, as if surprised by the question.

Then he shook his head. "This holiday has no personal meaning for me," Erik said quietly. "Therefore, I see no need to change my routine."

Edwin nodded. "Well, Merry Christmas, Erik." Edwin extended his hand.

Erik stared at the extended appendage for a moment before clasping it briefly.

A blast of cold shot up Edwin's arm, causing the young man to pull his hand away more quickly than he had intended.

"G..goodbye, Erik," Edwin said nervously, pulling his coat closed against the cold Paris evening.

Erik watched the man hurry to his waiting car, pulling off noisily into the darkening night.

As he closed the heavy doors, his eyes caught on a large painting hanging above the fireplace in the foyer.

It had been painted by him, from painful memories and stolen moments.

It depicted the only thing he believed was worth living for.

It was her.


	2. Prayers and Rehearsals

_If you haven't already guessed, the OPERA POPULARIE is now known as THE_ _PARIS OPERA HOUSE. Minor change to make the story seem more modern. Let's not think about it too much…_

_There may be some similarities between this story and my others. Settings, primarily. Whenever I think of Erik's mansion, I think of the same place…so I can't help the similar descriptions…hey…if it ain't broke, don't freaking fix it, right?_

_This chapter is going to throw you for a loop, particularly the introduction of this new character and her last name. Trust me. All will be explained. _

_Nico_

* * *

Like clockwork, the thank-you letter from the managers of the Paris Opera House arrived in Erik's mailbox three days after he had signed over finances that would allow the lavish theater to continue for another month.

Erik took the white envelope containing the cordial note and placed it with hundreds more just like it in an enormous oak chest.

The only difference in the letters were the dates, which went as far back as 1905, the year Erik had made his first monetary contribution to the theater.

Erik had seen managers come and go since _that_ night…there had been a particularly long dry spell following the performance of Don Juan Triumphant, but like most things that are truly worth existing, the Paris Opera House was once again rebuilt, glimmering in gold and marble, a testament to a time Erik which he could forget.

At first, his financial support was Erik's way of making reparations. After all, it was _his_ fault the Opera had nearly been destroyed by fire that night so long ago. Originally, the money had been sent anonymously…but as time passed and people forgot of his existence, Erik felt comfortable attaching his name to the donation. Only once or twice had his continued patronage been questioned…each time he was able to pass himself off as a relative of himself…a younger, very similar looking man.

The only problem was his blasted mask.

Fifty years or so into his benefaction, he was forced to begin hiring accountants to handle his affairs, lest he be recognized as the eternally youthful patron of the Paris Opera House.

Edwin was his newest hire, and while Erik had no particular opinion of the man on a personal level, he could not ignore the twinge of regret that shot through him as he realized it was only a matter of time before he would have to be rid of him…before Edwin became suspicious of his lack of aging.

Erik walked over to the large stained glass windows that nearly prevented any light from entering his music room-the only room he allowed himself to enjoy.

Snow had fallen, creating the illusion of a foamy sea surrounding his home. With no neighbors for miles, Erik could see out into the rolling Paris countryside, appreciating the scenery for its seemingly unchanging presence.

He closed his eyes, hoping to catch a moment of serenity.

Hoping to still the pounding of his ever-beating heart.

Hoping to experience just a second of pleasure.

Instead, he felt the same sensations as always…the painfully ebbing of hope…the staggering pain of loss…the despair that seemed to exist under his very skin.

Erik raised heavy lids to the gray and pink skies above the peaceful hills.

For the first time since he was a child, he felt a quiet prayer tumble from his lips before he could prevent it.

"Please," he said in a voice he did not recognize. "Please…"

* * *

­­

It was two days before opening night.

Two days before her career would explode or completely fizzle.

"Mirabelle De Changy!" An impatient male voice boomed into the backstage area where Mimi was struggling with the satin ribbon of her ballet shoe.

She poked her head out from behind the thick velvet curtains. "Yes, Monsieur?" Mimi asked, still scrambling to tie the laces up her stocking-clad leg.

"Is missing every one of your entrances something I should be prepared to deal with during the actual performances, or just something you save solely to aggravate me?" Bernard Maylier, the distinguished conductor of the Paris Opera Houses' impressive orchestra pushed his glasses up higher on his thin nose, his neck and face red with the annoyance of having to stop the music to address Mimi.

"I'm sorry Sir," Mimi said, hurrying onto stage after finally placing the last knot in her laces.

"This is most unacceptable, Miss De Changy," Bernard continued. "You cannot expect the rehearsal to pause each time you have a costume change."

"I apologize," repeated Mimi, taking her place downstage. "I'm ready now."

"Marvelous," Bernard said sarcastically, lifting his ivory conducting rod slowly, causing each of the musicians to simultaneously lift their instruments in preparation for playing. "Now that the _star _of our show is fully clothed, it appears we shall begin again from the beginning of scene three."

Mimi blanched as she received several hateful stares from the musicians, who apparently sided with Bernard when it came to her continually late entrances.

The lights came down once again; the music began to swell around Mimi's body. She tried to ignore her feelings of shame over Bernard's condescension. She tried to forget how nearly everyone within the Paris Opera House had treated her poorly, no matter how well she performed.

She tried to forget that she was completely alone in an unfamiliar country.

Mimi's voice lilted and swelled along with the chords of the smooth-flowing aria she was determined to leave her mark with.

She put her entire soul into the melody…she allowed her body to move, making the tune seem as if it was actually a part of her, rather than an extension.

As the chords calmed, marking the end of the aria, Mimi's face was streaked with tears…with the pain of loneliness, with the desperation she felt to become successful…to carry on her family's heritage.

Finally, the music ended, leaving the gigantic stage silent save Mimi's heavy breathing.

Mimi could actually feel the awe radiating from all who heard the remarkable performance.

"Miss De Changy," Bernard spoke softly, breaking the silence. "That, my dear, was perfect."

Mimi smiled despite her tears. "Thank you, Monsieur," she said earnestly.

"Yes, well," Bernard cleared his throat, replacing his common, unaffected intonation. "Don't let it go to your head."

Mimi nodded and returned backstage, unable to suppress giddy laughter…

It had been her first compliment since she had arrived at the Paris Opera House nearly three months ago.


	3. The Curtain Lifts

_Okay. This will prolly be my last chapter for today…Hope you all are with me so far…_

_Nico_

Erik latched the delicate clasp of his cloak. The elongated mirror he stood before…the only one in his enormous home…reflected his image back into his eyes.

He had been forced to somewhat adapt to the ever changing fashions of the modern world. Gone were the high-waisted britches Erik was so fond of…gone also were the elaborate silken shirts he preferred to the starched white one he currently donned. His shoes were made of modern leather…more comfortable than shoes of his past, but with what Erik considered half the impression. Black slacks that flared slightly at his ankles covered his eternally muscular legs; a matching black vest met the top of the slacks neatly.

Only if one truly inspected Erik's attire would they notice the subtle accessories that dated him. Heavy silver cufflinks kept his crisp white shirt secure to his wrists. An ancient ruby-silk cravat was knotted carefully at his throat. A pearl pin secured it to his shirt. A large silver and ruby ring stood out against the tan of his fingers on his right hand, a prized possession, even though Erik could no longer remember it's origins.

And then there was the mask.

True, people of this era were much less discriminatory than those of his pseudo youth. It was a rare occasion that someone asked why he wore it…mainly because he never left the house…but when he did, he could still recognize stares of curiosity…of wonder…of fear.

He sighed, turning from the mirror.

The limo he had asked Edwin to order for him was waiting patiently on the elaborate cobblestones those modern twits called a "driveway."

The bitterly cold air hit Erik's face with painful force.

He entered the waiting limo quickly, ignoring the glare of the young driver who had opened the vehicle's door for him.

He had no time to worry about what the boy thought of him.

It was Christmas Eve, and Erik was going to the Paris Opera House for the opening night of their newest performance.

* * *

Mimi's legs were shaking. She stood behind the heavy curtains, her perfectly bowed slippers standing on her mark. The lights were dim; blues and pinks covered her skin, her delicate white costume. She turned to the right, to the left. Faces blurred before her eyes…the faces of the cast that had barely made an effort to support her. 

She pushed her feelings of neglect aside…she had no time for that now. The swells of the orchestra were rising, indicating that the curtains were about to lift…

Mimi closed her eyes.

* * *

Box Five was once again left empty for him. It was his only request for his continued patronage. It pleased him to know that he still had a place that was solely his within these walls…a place no one else was privileged to enter. 

From the vantage point of Box Five, Erik could see the entire stage and almost all of the audience. He was also able to see backstage, something he had particularly relished when he had first started watching performances. He enjoyed observing the scurry of the actresses…the flutter of costumes, the harsh words exchanged between cast members that completely dissolved once they were on stage together.

The music had reached it's pinnacle; it had been some time since Erik had arrived at the Opera House early enough to catch parts of the overture. It was a pleasant surprise.

The familiar sound of the curtain's pulley system pulled Erik's attention to the stage.

The velvet lifted slowly, first revealing perfectly shaped legs clad in white.

Erik's eyes focused through the darkness; through the false night the electrical lighting produced.

When the curtains were pulled all the way up, Erik felt as if he might be sick, even though he had not been ill in more than a century.

Standing there, with the pinks and blues dancing across her golden brown curls, wasChristine.


	4. Friends and Strangers

**_As one of my darling reviewers put it…DUN DUN DUN…the plot thickens!_**

_**I KNEW the question of cosmetic surgery for Erik would come up…why does he still wear the mask? Because…it's all he knows. He's a recluse. He self-punishes. And the mask is his identity. Erik would not be Erik without the mask…at this point anyway…**_

_**Also…I should point out that, for this story, we're going to assume that no reproduction of the Phantom of the Opera exists. No movie, no play, no novel. **_

_**Nico**_

* * *

****

Mimi's world was spinning. Her tear filled eyes blurred her view of the audience, who were on their feet applauding her performance.

Flowers pelted her, landing at her feet…in her hair. She curtseyed again and again, overwhelmed by the response her performance had elicited.

As the heavy curtain fell down before her, muffling the cheering crowd only slightly, Mimi fell to her knees amongst the ruby roses and stark white tulips, completely overwhelmed by her happiness…her satisfaction.

After tonight, she would be a star.

* * *

Erik had remained standing in Box Five well after the second encore, his eyes filled with the sight of Christine. It was as if he had been transported back in time…she looked nearly the same as she had more than a hundred years ago…her soft eyes shining with pride and happiness as the audience demanded more.

Erik had not been able to move.

How was it possible? How had she returned to him?

His eyes remained on her until the curtains fell before her, shielding her from his sight. A twinge of panic coursed through his body for a moment. Silently, he calmed himself. _You will not lose her again._ He told himself. _She is here; she is alive…_

* * *

Mimi's dressing room was nearly filled with flowers from adoring fans. The knocks at her door continued well past midnight…she had admitted one star-struck fan after another, graciously accepting their words of praise, their gifts, their admiration.

It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

Finally, just before two o'clock in the morning, silence began to filter through the Paris Opera House. Most of the cast had long since retired to their respective homes, yet Mimi remained, standing in her room soaking in her success.

A chill moved through her body as she gazed upon the namesake atop the main doors of her dressing room.

_DE CHANGY. _

The bronze lettering had been affixed to the top of the door more than 60 years ago, right after her great-grandmother, Christine, had passed away. Christine De Changy, formerly Christine Daae, daughter of the famous violinist Charles Daae, was more than a legend within the walls of the Paris Opera House.

Mimi had long swooned over the romantic stories that revolved around her great-grandparents. Although they had both passed before she was born, Mimi felt an unbelievable connection to the couple. Not simply because Mimi had been told countless times by family members that she was the spitting image of Christine, but because their dedication to music and the arts lived on through both Mimi and the De Changy name.

Mimi had heard many variations of her great-grandparents' romance…how Raoul De Changy had become the youngest patron of the Opera Populaire, as it used to be known. How he had immediately recognized young Christine Daae as his childhood sweetheart as she performed for the first time on stage.

Shehad also heard about the infamous Phantom of the Opera…a story that she chalked up to lore rather than reality. She had heard that this supposed phantom had fallen in love with Christine…a bitter, lonely love that had not been reciprocated by Christine.

Mimi smiled as she thought of the tale of a disfigured man in love with a beautiful young protégé. It seemed that people involved in the arts, no matter what time period, possessed incredibly overactive imaginations.

As she walked over to her vanity, the same vanity Christine had surely sat at night after night, applying and removing the greasy stage paints from her face, she noticed something.

A single red rose…complete with a black satin sash tied between the thorns of the stem.

She picked up the flower and brought it to her nose, impressed by its perfect quality.

It was nowhere near as lavish as the hundreds of other blooms that were all about her…but something about it overwhelmed her. Something about the softness of the petals…the ferocity of the thorns.

She pulled at the sash, running its silky fabric between her thumb and index finger.

Another chill coursed down Mimi's spine as she placed the rose in a vase containing several other less impressive flowers.

At the same moment, the lights flickered in the dressing room, dimming and rising several times before settling on a decidedly lower intensity.

The loud knock at the door caused Mimi to jump.

"Get a hold of yourself," Mimi muttered to herself as she pulled the door open.

Standing there, in a matching pink terrycloth sweat suit was Emily, one of the lead dancers.

"Hi, can I come in?" Emily asked in a rough New York accident, her perky blond pigtails bouncing along with her chipper voice.

"Sure," Mimi replied, somewhat shocked by the presence of the girl. No one from the Opera's cast had ever visited her room…let alone invite themselves inside.

Emily swished inside, her perfume nearly overpowering the fragrant blooms in Mimi's room.

She helped herself to one of the candies someone had left for Mimi. Mimi watched as this American made herself comfortable.

"Do you mind?" she asked Mimi, gesturing to the chocolate she held in her hand.

"Not at all, help yourself," Mimi replied. Emily offered a smile and popped the sweet into her mouth.

"You were really great tonight," Emily informed Mimi, her mouth full with a second piece of chocolate.

Mimi smiled. "Thank you," she replied sincerely. "I can't tell you how much that means to me."

Emily shrugged. "Don't mention it," she said, tucking her thin legs underneath her body. "I know it's been rough for you. Whenever the Opera gets a new diva it takes a little while before everyone warms up."

Mimi nodded silently.

"Not that I'm calling you a diva," Emily clarified. "It's just that everyone knows how good you are; we can't help but be a little jealous."

Mimi sat down across from the seat Emily had chosen. "I'm not that good," she muttered.

"Oh please, don't give me that crap," Emily retorted, catching Mimi off guard. "You were amazing. Come on, look at this room," she gestured to the gifts and flowers. "You knocked them dead."

Mimi smiled, liking this woman immediately. "I guess I did," she finally relented.

"Damn straight you did," Emily agreed. "So," she said. "You're wondering why I'm here."

Mimi nodded.

"Well, think of me as a metaphorical olive branch," Emily said, pulling a daisy from a nearby vase and tucking it behind her small ear. "I've decided to be the first to officially welcome you to the Paris Opera House, and to let you know that things will get easier."

Mimi lowered her eyes against tears of happiness. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to actually talk to someone else here besides Bernard," she admitted.

"Sure I do," Emily countered. "It's been three months. You're lucky…no one spoke to me for six months. I nearly went insane from the conversations I was having with myself."

Emily stretched her long legs out and stood into a full body stretch, yawning dramatically. "I gotta head back to my place," she announced suddenly. "Dance rehearsal starts at 8 tomorrow…I'm already gonna feel like shit. Are you leaving soon? You wanna share a cab?"

Mimi considered the offer and then shook her head. "I think I'm going to stay for a bit…you know…let it all sink in…"

Emily yawned again. "I gotcha. It's overwhelming, isn't it?"

"Oh yes," Mimi agreed emphatically. "But it's what I've been waiting for my whole life."

"Careful," Emily warned, moving towards the door. "Once you have everything you want in life, you get very, very bored."

Mimi laughed. "I could never tire of performing."

Emily scoffed. "Talk to me in a few years…we'll see just how tired you are."

As Emily walked out of the dressing room, Mimi stopped her by placing a hand softly on the dancer's arm.

"Emily, thank you," she said.

Emily winked and pulled Mimi into a hug. "Congratulations, Mimi."

Mimi watched as Emily made her way down the long hallway outside of her dressing room.

How strange how one's life could change in one evening! Mimi's entire view of the Paris Opera House had changed…the establishment which had, up until this evening's performance, seemed hostile and lonely now seemed warm and accepting.

For the first time in a very long time, Mimi felt like she was home.

She moved back into her dressing room, closing the door silently.

Smiling, she turned around to face her room.

And gasped.

There, standing as if he had been there all along, was a man.

A man dressed nearly completely in black.

A man of impressive height and obvious physical strength.

A man whose face was halfway covered with a strange white mask.


	5. Mistaken Identity and Remembering

_Most people who remember me remember that I update quickly. I plan to keep this pace of one to two chaps a day._

_Thanks for the lovely reviews! They keep me going! _

_-Nico_

* * *

"Who are you?" Mimi demanded, placing her hand on the doorknob behind her.

Somehow, the door had been locked.

From the outside.

The man walked closer to her, his eyes wide, his breath tight in his chest.

"Have you forgotten your angel?" The man said, his voice strained and barely above a whisper.

"What?" Mimi asked, her legs shaking. "Who are you?" She asked again.

Erik stopped in his tracks.

She had forgotten him.

Mimi turned, panicking and pulling at the doorknob fruitlessly.

"Has it been that easy to forget, Christine?" Erik asked, the pain of the question almost tangible.

Mimi froze.

"I'm not Christine," she said, turning to look at the man. "Who are you?" Mimi asked again, more softly.

After a moment's hesitation, Erik once again moved closer to Mimi. He paused about a foot in front of her, noticing her fear as she pressed her back against the heavy oak door.

Mimi watched in horror, closing her eyes as the man's hand rose.

She expected him to strike her, to assault her…she expected the worst…

Which was not what happened.

Instead, Erik's hand came to rest lightly on her cheek.

Mimi inhaled sharply at the cold touch, which was all at one gentle and urgent.

Mimi's eyes opened to meet the man's before her.

Her heart nearly broke in half.

Tears were brimming on his thick lashes. His brow was wrinkled in pain, his full lips pursed together as if holding back a great torrent of emotions.

"Please," Mimi whispered. "Please don't hurt me."

Erik pulled his hand away. "Who do you think you are," he asked, returning Mimi's question.

"Mimi De Changy," she replied quickly, hoping that supplying this obviously confused man with a name would cause him to realize his error and depart.

Erik's blood froze. "De Changy?" He repeated, anger audible in his voice.

Mimi nodded.

"You married him," Erik said, his heart throbbing in his chest. "You married him and have forgotten me."

Rage seared through his body, causing him to move closer, placing a thickly muscled arm on either side of Mimi, effectively pinning her against the door.

Mimi began to shriek, but was cut off by a large gloved hand over her mouth.

"I am not here to hurt you," Erik said evenly, trying to control the anger that was threatening to overcome him. "How did you get here?"

Mimi's eyes widened as Erik removed his hand, allowing her to reply. "What are you talking about?" She asked breathlessly. "I accepted the lead soprano role here at the Opera less than three months ago…I don't know anyone here…especially not a Christi…"

Mimi stopped in her tracks, realizing the name she was about to say…finally making the connection.

"Wait," she said slowly. "You think…you think that I'm Christine Daae?"

Erik's eyes flared. "Who else would you be?" He demanded.

Mimi almost laughed. "Christine was my great grandmother," she explained slowly. Then, she gently added, "She died more than half a century ago."

As if burned, Erik pulled away, never removing his eyes from Mimi's. "That is impossible," he said quietly.

Mimi shook her head. "It's not. I've been to her grave. It's here, in Paris…not far from where we are now…it's still there…"

"She is not dead," Erik interrupted. "She is standing before me and has forgotten who she really is."

Mimi nodded. Obviously, this man who had managed to sneak into her dressing room was insane. Perhaps a fan of the deceased Christine Daae and the lore that surrounded the Daae name.

From what Mimi understood, Christine was nothing short of an enchantress. Her image had been well documented following her successes at the Opera Populaire. Perhaps this man standing before her had idolized Christine to the point of convincing himself that she still lived.

And the fact that Mimi looked so much like Christine probably did not help the situation much.

"Sir," Mimi said, forcing her voice to sound strong and even. "I can assure you that I am most certainly not Christine Daae. As for the resemblance, I suppose you can blame that on strong genes."

Erik shook his head. "I am only sure of a few things in this life, Mademoiselle. One is that nothing is as it seems." He moved forward again, resting his palm against Mimi's cheek.

"Another thing is that you are, without a doubt, Miss Christine Daae." He added softly.

Mimi's eyes widened. She pulled his hand away from her face. "I'm sorry, Sir," she said, her voice no longer sounding strong. "But I am not."

Erik lowered his head for a moment.

Then, as if having an epiphany, he looked at her…a mysterious glaze across his eyes. "Perhaps it is just a matter of memory, Christine," he said, moving closer to her.

Mimi felt herself pressed back against the door, the knob jamming into her backside.

"Perhaps you are in need of reminding," he continued, lowering his head to hers.

Mimi watched in horror as his lips approached hers.

Slowly, he moved closer to her. Mimi inhaled sharply just as his soft lips met hers, the edge of his mask pressing just beneath her nose.

Erik felt a flood of emotions soar from his very soul…or whatever was left of it. He mustered all his restraint to keep his kiss gentle.

He moved his hands to her waist, shocked as he felt the woman in his arms relent, her arms cautiously snaking around his neck.

Unable to hold back, Erik pulled her closer, pressing her thin frame against his own. Mimi gasped into his mouth, allowing his velvet tongue entrance at the same time. Languidly, he explored her mouth…groaning as she received him.

His hands had moved up her back and into the thick mass of her hair, locking her to him.

Suddenly, Erik pulled away, knowing that if he didn't now, he would not be able to stop.

As his lips left hers, he stared down at her face.

Her eyes slid open. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were reddened from his kiss.

Tears formed on her lashes.

Her breath came in shakily.

She looked up at him and spoke.

A single word that confirmed everything he had suspected.

Her lip trembled as the word escaped her mouth…

"Erik…"


	6. Denial and Belief

_As always, thanks for the reviews…Erik's Angel…I'm glad to see you back and reviewing! Your comments are always so sweet! _

_As for the spelling of Chagny…for some unknown reason my spell check likes to change it to Changy…lol. It also likes to change Daae to Daee. So sorry for these little issues._

_Okay…on with the show…_

_-Nico_

* * *

Mimi instantly wished she hadn't uttered his name.

It seemed to open the floodgates…images were swirling in front of her eyes…

A boat…a dark cavern illuminated only by candles…a rooftop…a chandelier…a choice…a kiss…

She brought her hands to her head, desperately trying to close off the emotions that were rising within her too quickly to prevent.

Erik watched as Mimi shoved past him further into her room, staggering around as if drunk.

A song was ebbing into Mimi's mind…a song she all at once recognized and feared…

"Past the point of no return…" 

She suddenly turned on him, tears brimming on her eyelashes. "What have you done to me," she rasped, sounding as if she were in pain.

Erik remained silent.

"What is happening to me?" Mimi demanded.

As she staggered, she found herself before a large mirror, framed in gold with only minor abrasions to the otherwise smooth surface.

She straightened, staring at her reflection.

Slowly, she allowed her fingertips to graze the surface, halting as they came to an otherwise unnoticeable separation between the glass and the frame.

Erik smiled as he watched her movements, quietly moving behind her.

"Erik," she breathed, turning to him and allowing her hand to rest upon the cold mask covering his face. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Erik's eyes darkened as memories suddenly resurfaced. His instant reaction to Christine's memory returning had been one of jubilation…yet now, now that she knew who she really was…the fact that she chose Raoul over him was painfully apparent.

"How much do you remember, Christine," Erik asked slowly, pulling her hand from his face.

Hearing him call her Christine nearly caused Mimi to collapse.

Pitiful creature of darkness…what kind of life have you known…God give me courage to show you…you are not alone…

The words she had spoken to him more than a hundred years ago seemed to hang just above their heads.

A sob hitched in Christine's throat.

"I remember everything," she said suddenly, tears now falling down her face.

Erik pushed the urge to embrace her away.

After all, she had not chosen him.

Pain…raw pain…consumed him.

Anger.

Despair.

"Christine," Erik murmured. "Why…why…"

She lowered her head. "It was safe," she said pathetically, her eyes fixed to the floor. "He was safe."

Erik made a sound of protest causing Christine to lift her eyes. "You were a murderer," she said suddenly. "You killed…time and again…you killed Joseph Buquet…Piangi…"

"For you!" Erik interrupted. "You couldn't see…you couldn't see all I did…"

"Stop…please stop," Christine said suddenly, once again placing her hands to her head.

She was crying freely now, her thin body shaking with her realizations…with the desperation she felt to control these feelings…

"You must leave," she said suddenly. "I am _not_ who you think I am…this is a dream…this is all a horrible dream…"

"Christine…" Erik began.

"_Stop calling me that!"_ She shrieked. "Please…stop…I am not her…she is _dead_…buried for more than sixty years…_this is not happening!"_

Erik felt as if he had been stabbed.

He grasped Christine's shoulders, his large, cold hands biting through her thin shirt. "You _are_ her," he growled. "You have returned to me…"

"Please," Mimi pleaded.

"Do you think this is all just a coincidence, Christine?" He continued, shaking her lightly. "Do you think things like this happen all the time? You have been given a _second chance…_

"You're hurting me!" Mimi cried, trying to pull herself from his grasp.

"Do you realize the tremendous gift you have been given?" Erik demanded, his voice ethereal and frightening. "Will you allow history to repeat itself, now, after all this time?"

Rage began to boil within Mimi. She had not asked for this. She had been on the brink of true happiness…and then this…this _man…_had appeared in her life…disrupting the harmony she had worked so hard for…

"I am not who you think…" Mimi said, viciously freeing herself, finally finding the backbone that had melted along with Erik's kiss. "My name is Mimi De Chagny, I am Christine's _great-granddaughter_…and Christine herself is dead…"

"But you remember…you _remember…_" Erik yelled, matching her frenzied pitch.

"No, I do not," Mimi lied. "I have nothing to do with you, or Christine's choices. And I will not allow you to punish me for them!"

"_They were your choices!"_ Erik roared. "And now you must lay to rest the ghosts of the past…"

"Conquer your own demons, Erik!" Mimi returned. "For I will not go to war on the grounds of insanity and impossibility!"

"You are lying to yourself," Erik said, his voice rumbling. "You are denying this miracle…this resurrection…you are denying me once again!"

"Leave!" Mimi demanded. "Leave this place and never return!"

"You can only suppress and deny for so long, Christine," Erik fumed. "Be warned; there will be no third chances."

He laid his hand on the doorknob and turned it…it was miraculously unlocked.

He turned to face her again.

Her hair was askew…her blouse had shifted…rage burned her cheeks.

She was as beautiful as ever, and it nearly broke his heart to leave her standing there.

* * *

The sun was rising, sweeping the winter sky with pinks and blues the like Mimi had never seen before.

The taxi Mimi rode in slowed outside of the cemetery gates, stopping just before the entrance.

"Strange place to visit on Christmas morning," the driver observed as Mimi fumbled in her purse for the fare. "Seems to me that today is better spent with the living."

"Keep the change," Mimi muttered, shoving bills into the driver's waiting hand.

"You want me to wait for you?" The driver asked suddenly. "It's pretty cold out…and it will be tough to get another cab all the way out here…"

"No," Mimi said quickly. "I don't need you to wait."

The driver nodded. "Merry Christmas," he said as Mimi slammed the door.

She had only been to the cemetery twice before…once as a very young child. Her parents had made the long journey from London to Paris when she was 5, determined to have Mimi connect with her family's legacy.

Since then, Mimi had gone only once more, on the same day she arrived in Paris as a member of the cast of the Paris Opera House. She had sat before the enormous De Chagny mausoleum, allowing her fingertips to trace the writing on the sides of the marble structure, desperately trying to connect with ancestors who had died long before she was born.

The ground was covered in a thick layer of snow. The cemetery caretaker had obviously already been busy, clearing out pathways in anticipation of visitors.

The De Chagny Mausoleum rested just south of the Daae tomb…a request Christine had made many years prior to her death. Her devotion to her father initiated the request; her love of Paris sealed the desire.

Mimi slowly climbed the angel-guarded walkway leading up to the Daae tomb. She laid a single tulip at the gated grave entrance. She lightly kissed her fingertips and pressed a cold hand to the deeply chiseled Daae name.

She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the icy cold winter air.

Slowly, she closed her eyes and walked around the platform surrounding the medium-sized structure that housed the remains of Charles Daae, resting her hand against the tomb for balance.

In a moment, she would be looking down the other side of the Daae Mausoleum, directly at the much larger, much more lavish final resting place of her great grandparents.

Mimi slowly opened her eyes.

Panic grasped her throat.

Her knees buckled, causing her land unceremoniously on the hard marble platform.

Instead of the gilded angels and stark-white marble was a patch of even, snow-covered unspoiled land.

The De Chagny grave no longer existed.

"You knew you would not find them here." A voice from behind Mimi said firmly.

Mimi did not have to turn around.

She knew who stood there, waiting for her to admit defeat.

"I didn't want to believe," she said softly, sobs breaking her voice.

"Some things are true whether or not we believe them, Christine," Erik said.

Christine Daae rose to her feet slowly, turning to face the man…

He stood rigidly, his long black coat swirling by his ankles, lifting and lowering in the stiff breeze.

His eyes were as blue as the overhead sky.

They pierced Christine's soul just as they had years ago.

"There is something you must have realized by now, Erik," Christine said. The pitch of her voice had changed slightly, taking on the nearly ancient accent of Paris at the turn of the century.

Erik cocked his head to one side, inviting her to continue.

"Mine is not the only grave that has vanished," she continued, her voice cold.

Erik's eyes widened with realization.

"For nearly sixty years he has lain beside me," she said, her eyes scanning the vacant space before her. "And it would appear that now, his sleep has been disturbed as well."


	7. Memory As Her Guide

**_I know that it's a little confusing…the Mimi/Christine thing. I wanted to ease into calling Mimi "Christine." The last chapter wasthe beginning of amajor transition for her, and we'll be recognizing her more and more as Christine as the story develops._**

**_One of my favorite characters to write is Raoul…now wait…I didn't say I was a FAN of him, but he's loads of fun to write. He has a tough lot in life. Crazy phantom man tries to steal your one true love…and then Nico keeps making terrible things happen to you…_**

**_He's a great catalyst…that's why he's a recurring theme in my stories. In my last stories, I almost felt bad for him…almost. Just keep in mind that I'm an avid E/C supporter…_**

**_-Nico _**

* * *

****

Suddenly, the Paris Opera House lookedcompletely different to Christine.

She wandered the winding hallways, the intricate stairwells…each nook and cranny she had memorized when she was a child.

But it had changed…the gas lighting had been replaced with brilliant bulbs that were much brighter than any fire could ever be. The golden statues that had once adorned the theater and stage were gone, replaced with more modern abstract sculptures. The chandelier, of course, had been replaced as well, with a new electric version, complete with hanging crystals that accented the glittering illumination.

Christine smiled as she slowly walked out onto the empty stage.

Amid all the changes the Opera had been subjected to, it still smelled faintly of the past…

Of him, she realized.

She had left Erik in the cemetery, pleading for time…time to sort out her thoughts…to escape the stresses of her…rebirth.

He had conceded, promising to return for her in three days' time.

It was now the night before the third day, and Christine remained just as befuddled as she had been when Erik kissed her.

The kiss. The mere thought of it sent a chill down Christine's back, speckling her body with Goosebumps. It had been all at once pleasing and painful. It was like slipping into a dark cavern of pain and sorrow, yet as familiar and comfortable as a warm blanket.

It had been immediately confusing and frightening.

Christine found herself partly wishing it had never happened.

She padded slowly back to her dressing room, making certain to close the door quietly as not to disturb several dancers who had elected to occupy the room beside hers for the night, a common practice on nights of particularly bad weather.

The wind howled outside as if to emphasize Christine's thoughts.

She sat at her vanity as she had for hours in the days before, staring at the face that she no longer recognized as Mimi…but none other than Christine Daae.

Christine had noticed subtle transformations within herself within the past few days. Her hair had seemingly grown and thickened, morphing from a stylish layered cut into long tendrils of perfectly formed curls. Her skin had softened; the fine lines beneath her eyes had diminished. She felt lighter, more refined. It was apparent in the way she carried herself; the way she walked…the way she spoke.

Her acceptance of who she truly was seemed not to frighten her as much as it had immediately upon discovery…but something was happening that was much more terrifying.

She was losing Mimi's memories.

Earlier in the day, she had forgotten nearly all of the lyrics to an aria she had learned from her father as a child. She could not remember her middle name as she signed another piece of paperwork for the opera. Worst of all, she had forgotten her parent's names, instead referring to her father as "Charles" in an earlier conversation with Bernard.

Sighing, she rose, walking over to the large gilded mirror.

She allowed herself to remember him, to remember the first time she had seen him; his reflection behind the enormous glass.

Christine had been fascinated.

It was only a matter of time before she had realized that Erik was not, in fact, her father…or an angel…but a man…a most unique man…

Who apparently could not die.

But upon seeing him for the first time, the same night Raoul had first reconnected with her, nothing mattered except for the tall man singing to her from somewhere behind the mirror.

She could practically see him now, standing there…his long cape…a wide brimmed hat tilted slightly over half of his face…the thin tailored lines of his impeccable clothing…the white mask that defined him.

Christine remembered walking towards that image…towards the beauty of her angel of music. She had lifted her hand, reaching to him…and to her surprise, he had reached back.

She remembered the touch of his hand, warm through the thick black gloves he wore. She could feel the dank air of the passageways he led her through caress her body, frightening and enticing her.

She felt the sway of the boat he maneuvered through the icy lake within the depths of the Opera House…the sensation of his hands on hers as he helped her from that same boat.

Most of all, she remembered the magnificence of Erik's home…the sparkling illumination of hundreds of candles dancing across gold, silver, mahogany and velvet…all at once overwhelming her and bringing her to the brink of ecstasy.

Christine's fingers once again found the slight separation between the large mirror and frame. Gently, she pushed in the glass.

To her surprise, the entire mirror slowly gave way, revealing the same dark passageway from the depths of her memory.

Stagnant air slapped her in the face.

Yet it was not enough to stop her.

Darkness enveloped her; Christine gave her eyes a moment to adjust. Slowly, she followed the winding stone canals, losing herself in memories and melody.

She walked for what seemed like days, turning and twisting…moving down stairs and through steep inclines using only her instincts to guide her.

She picked up her pace, eagerly anticipating arriving at the lake…hoping that at least some physical remains of Erik's life underneath the impressive Opera House still existed.

Christine didn't know what was driving back down to the lake, she only knew that she must continue…that she must return to where it all began.

Suddenly, a rumbling could be felt beneath her feet.

She paused, listening to the strange sound.

The ground began to shake.

All at once, the floor gave way, plunging Christine into an icy pool.

She broke the surface of the water, gasping for breath. Before she could gather her wits, another sound echoed within the cavern.

Chains.

A pulley system.

Christine looked up.

A large iron grid was slowly moving down towards her.

Realizing what was about to happen…that she was about to be trapped underneath the freezing water, Christine cried out.

It seemed that her resurrection was to be short lived after all.


	8. A Second Death

_**I should have mentioned that I usually take weekends off from writing. I try to make the most of the summer…my other stories were written when it wasn't this nice out…**_

_**I'll have the occasional update over the weekends, but not often…**_

_**A special thank you to Erik's Angel...possibly my most supportive fan...if you have the time, click on her name in my review section and check out her fan fiction...**_

_**Now…on with the show…**_

_**-Nico**_

* * *

****

Imminent death does strange things to a person.

Even stranger things to a person who already died once before.

As the gate closed down upon Christine, her immediate reaction was to panic…to grasp as much breath as she could before becoming completely submerged in the icy waters.

As her head went under, an eerie calm flooded her body. She almost immediately went limp, realizing that struggling would simply make her last moments on earth more horrendous.

Images began to flash through her mind…she saw herself dressed in a tremendous pink gown, gracefully sweeping across the highly polished ballroom floor of the Opera Populaire, a heavy engagement ring around her neck. She saw Raoul's laughing face in front of her, holding her tightly as they privately celebrated their upcoming union.

As quickly as the memory came, it faded into something darker…blacker. She felt the clutch of gloved hands upon her waist…felt herself turned around, he back against a man whose mere presence intoxicated her. She felt his hands roam over her tightly corseted body as they stood together on a makeshift bridge high above the stage.

She watched in horror as her hand found the edge of the man's mask, revealing the deformity that separated him from the human race.

Even as she suffocated, Christine's body hitched on a sob.

And then, everything was dark.

* * *

Christine's dressing room was empty.

Immediately, Erik's mind assumed the worst. Had she fled? Had she already fallen in love with a cast member and was spending the night with him?

Then, suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the large mirror that led to his once home had been disturbed.

"Christine..." he murmured, wondering what it was that had driven her into the depths of the opera house once more.

He moved through the entryway, surprised that, even after all this time, he was able to navigate the narrow, murky hallways with little to no visibility.

For sometime, he heard nothing but his own breath and footsteps.

Then, a horrible sound filled his ears.

The gate…the trap he had set all those years ago…it was deploying.

He immediately burst into a full run, knowing that it was only a matter of minutes before Christine would be killed…drowned by a contraption that had been built with his two hands.

_Please, _He prayed silently, _please let her have made it across…please don't take her from me…_

_Again. _

As soon as Erik reached the pit, his heart lurched. After only a moment of surveying the area, he could see the form of a thin woman, draped in white…

Completely motionless under the ice water and trapped by a large, rusty, gate.

Erik found the lever that would bring the gate back up, hidden within the folds of the stones that made up the walls of the caverns.

He grasped it, trying to push it up.

It didn't move.

Panic swelled within his breast. Raw, unbridled emotions coursed through his veins, fueling his muscles.

With a pure animal roar, the lever began to budge beneath Erik's straining body.

After a moment of this, the lever gave way, lifting the gate with painfully slow motion.

As soon as there was enough room, Erik jumped into the icy depths, plunging below the water to grasp Christine, whose limp body had drifted to nearly the bottom of the deep pool.

Grasping her water-logged form, Erik quickly maneuvered the metal ladder leading to the undisturbed portion of the walkway.

He laid Christine gently on the stone surface, immediately pressing upon her chest, forcing gurgling water from her lungs.

She remained still, even as the murky liquid escaped her mouth.

Erik quickly shrugged off his heavy coat, allowing him to work more diligently on his patient.

Trying to ignore the thudding of his own heart, he leaned down to listen for hers.

A flicker of hope ignited.

The painfully slow sound of Christine's heart could be heard through her cold chest.

With eternal time on his hands, Erik had studied nearly everything he could…including medicine.

Reading about something and actually doing it, however, were two different things…

Erik placed his fisted hands on Christine's breastbone, pressing down in three sharp thrusts.

More water emerged from her lungs.

After the third thrust, Erik lowered his lips to hers, breathing life into her cold body.

No response.

Again he repeated the process…and again…

Tears began to well in his eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers again, breathing into her through a sob.

"Christine," he called, his voice carrying unavoidable urgency. "Christine…wake up…please…"

He thrust on her chest again, a bit more forcefully.

Just as he lowered his mouth to breathe again, she moved.

Erik watched as Christine's face twisted into confusion and pain, her eyelids fluttering open.

He could not prevent the thankful smile of relief that crossed his face.

Christine looked up at him, her wide eyes blinking away the sheen of death.

"Erik," she said, recognizing him. "Erik…where am I…what happ…"

A series of violent coughs racked her small body.

Erik helped her onto her side, where she promptly retched up the remaining water from her lungs.

"Shh," Erik soothed, gathering her into his arms as she wept from the shock her body had just been through. "It's alright now…you're alright."

He held her, sitting in the dark, both soaked and cold…both weeping…

For entirely different reasons.

"I thought I had lost you," Erik murmured against her matted hair. "I thought I had lost you again."

Christine lay against the strong man holding her, too weak to pull away or respond.

After some time, Erik rose, lifting Christine along with him.

"Where are we going, Erik?" Christine asked softly, her chest aching from his life-saving efforts.

Erik looked down at the woman in his arms.

Her lips were blue; the delicate skin under her eyes was smudged with dark shadows. Her thick brown hair was mussed about her pale face, winding and twisting across Erik's chest and arms.

"You came down here for a reason, did you not?" Erik asked, his voice still soothing and knowing.

Christine nodded, staring at his liquid blue eyes intently.

"I see no reason you should not continue your journey, Christine," Erik informed her, turning back the way they had both came.

"But…you're going the wrong way," Christine pointed out. "Your home is in the other direction…across the lake…"

Erik shook his head. "There is nothing down here for you," he informed her. "Or for myself."

Christine rested her head against Erik's broad chest. "I just wanted to see the seat of music's throne once more…just once more." She murmured, her body becoming too tired for consciousness.

Erik smiled.

"That is one request that may still be granted."


	9. Waking Up In Clouds

**_We have a special appearance in this chapter. _**

**_Also, there were some characters mentioned in the beginning of the story. I want you to make sure you keep them in mind!_**

**_Enjoy..._**

**_Nico_**

**_

* * *

She was surrounded by clouds._**

Silken clouds that clung to her form at every angle.

She opened her eyes slowly.

The clouds were black.

And not clouds at all actually…they were pillows and sheets, all made of the same soft satin.

Christine closed her eyes for a moment, too comfortable and warm to allow herself to re-enter reality.

Suddenly a violent eruption of several piano keys being compressed at the same time filled her ears.

It was a sound of frustration…of anger…of hurt

Of Erik.

Christine slowly slid from the large swan bed she had been laying in…the same swan bed Erik had first brought her to when she had become completely overwhelmed by her experiences in his lair and fainted.

Feeling an incredible sense that she was reenacting that same moment in her life, she padded slowly towards the sound of the piano.

Erik must have removed her clothing at some point in the evening, Christine realized, her cheeks burning red as she glanced down at the long white nightshift she now donned…it was simple yet lovely…obviously made for a woman who was very close to her own size.

She tried not to think about the woman who might have once worn the thin satin gown she was currently traipsing across the marble floors of the room in which she had woken up.

Quietly, Christine followed the sound of the piano, taking in her surroundings as she traveled.

Dark, heavy curtains covered tall windows that, at one point, must have allowed sunlight to streak across the highly polished interior of what Christine now realized was a mansion.

Everything was perfectly in place; portraits of famous composers hung evenly…there was not a speck of dust to be found.

Erik was, apparently, a neat freak.

Finally, after passing room after empty, gloomy room, Christine approached the sound.

The door to the room that contained the somber notes emitting from the piano was wide open. The crackling of a fire could be heard; the flickering of the flames seen.

Silently, Christine approached the door, peeking in unseen.

He was there.

His back was to her as his fingers worked the ivory keys of the piano, pausing every once in a while to scribble a note, or to slam his hand down when an errant note was struck.

Christine leaned against the doorframe, silently observing the man who had just saved her life.

She watched as his body moved with the melody…as his head tipped back in a sensual nod to his own talent. His back, which was covered in a thin white shirt flexed and strained with the motion of his hands and arms. His hair was askew, looking longer and thicker as it had escaped its combed refinement during his musical interlude.

Christine sighed quietly, despite her feelings of fear of Erik…her heart aching to walk behind him…place her hands on his shoulders…to feel him…

"It isn't polite to stare."

The female voice from behind Christine made her jump.

She turned around to see a pretty woman of about her own age…certainly no more than 21 or 22. She was dressed in jeans and a pale yellow shirt, neatly tucked in.

She was a blaze of modernity in a place that contained absolutely nothing modern.

"Who are you?" Christine asked, completely surprised by the presence of another person within the walls of Erik's home.

The woman smiled, looking at Christine for long enough to make her uncomfortable, and then gesturing for Christine to come away from Erik's music room, lest he hear them.

Christine followed the woman away from the door.

"I'm Lauren Derey," the woman introduced herself, extending a slender hand for Christine to shake. "I work for Erik," she clarified.

"Do you live here?" Christine asked.

Lauren nodded. "For the past year or so," she clarified. "I was originally working at the Paris Opera House when Erik approached me looking for a full-time housekeeper." She shrugged. "The pay was great and room and board were included…I couldn't pass it up."

"So, you know Erik well then," Christine pried, inexplicably jealous of the woman standing before her.

Lauren laughed. "I suppose," she admitted. "Besides his accountant, I think I may be the only person he actually speaks to."

Christine nodded.

"I trust you slept well?" Lauren asked, changing the subject which was obviously making the new house guest uncomfortable. "I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of changing you into something a little less…wet," she explained, gesturing to the nightgown Christine still wore.

"Oh," Christine said, blushing. "For a moment I thought he…I thought…"

"Erik is a lot of things, but he's modest when it comes to women," Lauren said tactfully. She took a step back and looked at Christine. "You seem to be about my size…let me see if I can find you something to change into."

"Thank you," Christine said earnestly, liking the woman despite her close proximity to Erik. "I really appreciate it. Everyone at the Opera House already hates me…I can't imagine the rumors that would begin to fly if I returned wearing a nightgown."

Lauren's eyebrows raised. "I was under the impression you'd be staying with us for a while," she said.

"Oh, is that…is that was he said?" Christine asked.

Lauren nodded.

Christine felt a flush of warmth and importance. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued by this place…or if I said I didn't want to stay…but…the truth is…" Christine paused, not really knowing how to explain to Lauren that she and Erik had a history that went back more than a century.

Lauren placed a comforting hand on Christine's sleeve. "You don't need to explain," she said. "I understand."

Christine looked at the woman's hand for a moment, then to her eyes.

There was something there, something she recognized.

Startled, Christine took a step backwards, narrowing her eyes to further inspect Lauren.

The housekeeper stood still, smiling broadly as Christine looked over the small woman's blond hair…deep brown eyes…smooth honey skin…

Shock coursed through Christine.

"Dear God," she said, placing a hand to her mouth.

"It took you long enough," Lauren said, still smiling.

"This can't be!" Christine gasped, her voice raised slightly.

"I see you've met Lauren." The deep voice came from the music room doorway, where Erik stood, his arms crossed over his chest.

Christine stared at him, her face white.

"Or perhaps you remember her by her former identity," Erik continued, walking closer to the women.

A tear escaped Christine's eye. She moved closer to Lauren, placing a cold hand on the woman's face and then pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Meg," Christine sobbed. "I thought I'd never see you again."


	10. Revelations and Wonderment

_Hahah. I think you all now know why I said Erik's Angel is my most supportive fan…I think that's the longest review I've ever gotten!_

_And readers, yes…we will be primarily calling Lauren "Meg" from now on._

_Big twist in this chappie. Might be a bit confusing. Feel free to email me (email is on profile page) if you get too confused._

_Also, keep in mind that I might not resolve every aspect of the story until the end. That's the fun of it, right?_

_Nico_

* * *

"Are you certain she didn't recognize you, not even a bit?" Edwin lazily twirled a lock of Emily's perfect hair as she lay against his naked chest.

She sighed with exasperation. "I've told you three times already that she didn't!"

"How is that possible?" Edwin asked, pushing Emily off his chest a little less than gently. "She's recognized everyone else!"

Emily lay on her back, making a sound of annoyance. "You know what I would love, Edwin? If you could make love to me JUST ONCE without bringing up Christine Daae."

Edwin climbed from the bed, pulling on a pair of jeans. "I just don't understand why you had to go and introduce yourself to her," Edwin said, irritated by the woman in his bed. "If she had recognized you, everything would be ruined."

"Stop being so dramatic, Edwin," Emily said, standing and pulling Edwin's satin sheets with her. She lit an unnecessarily long cigarette and stared out onto the amazing view of the Paris streets.

"I'm not being dramatic, dammit," Edwin snapped.

"You're the one who works for that _thing_," Emily countered. "How much closer can you get to them?"

"I _have _to work for him," Edwin said. "How else would I get access to his money?"

Emily walked over to her lover, wrapping her thin arms around his waist seductively. "I'm sure you could have figured something out," she purred, apparently tired of arguing.

Edwin looked down at the woman who was wrapped around him and laughed. He embraced her, placing a rough kiss on the top of her head. "Who would have thought that of all people, we would end up together?"

Emily smiled against his bare chest. "I think it's a perfect fit," she replied, looking up at him. "After all, I was certain it was _me_ you lusted after all those years ago…and not Christine Daae." She spit the name.

Edwin laughed. "I never understood your hatred of her…after all, she was just a child."

"A child _you _were engaged to," Emily pointed out bitterly.

"So?" He countered. "Need I remind you of a-not-so-little man named Piangi?"

Emily's eyes darkened. "I thought we agreed not to mention his name," she said, sadness creeping behind her eyes.

Edwin embraced her tighter, knowing that the mention of her formerlover caused her great pain. "Don't worry, Carlotta," he said softly. "Soon, we will have our revenge…and live out the rest of our days on _his_ dime."

Carlotta looked up at him, her eyes shining. "I love you, Raoul," she said earnestly, a twinge of evil intent on her tongue.

"And I you," Raoul replied, kissing her deeply.

* * *

"When did you realize who you were," Christine asked Meg, biting down on a very ripe plum.

The women were sitting in kitchen of Erik's expansive home, desperate to discuss the strange situation they currently found themselves in.

Meg popped another piece of a sweet cake in her mouth. "I suppose it was about five or six years ago," she said, looking thoughtful. "I had come to Paris after my parents died, looking to make my fortune…just like every other starry-eyed sixteen year old out there.

"I auditioned for a dancing position at the Paris Opera House," Meg continued. Christine's eyebrows shot up, amused. "I know, I know…ironic, right?" Meg laughed. "What's even MORE ironic is that I didn't make it…but I had nowhere else to go…so I applied for the open housekeeping position. And, I got it.

"While I was there, strange things started to happen," she said, her expression becoming more serious.

"What sort of strange things?" Christine asked, enthralled.

"Memories," Meg said. "Strange memories. It was as if I had always been within the walls of the Opera House. I could remember arias I had never heard…dance steps I had never performed…people who I thought didn't exist." She paused to smile. "Just when I thought I was going completely insane, Erik found me.

"He seemed to know exactly what I was going through, even though he barely spoke to me," Meg continued. "He assured me that living as his personal housekeeper would be a satisfactory move, and that before long everything would become clear. And it did. I'm now certain of who I am and have full memory of my past."

"Why didn't you tell me who you were right away?" Christine asked.

"Christine," Meg said softly. "You showed up here in Erik's arms, soaking wet and unconscious. It would have been slightly difficult for me to tell you then anyway. And then when I first saw you, you were too enthralled by _him_ to notice anything else. I mean, come on! I'm the spitting image of what I used to look like!" She gestured to her face, which, Christine had to admit, looked just like the Meg she remembered.

"I was _not _enthralled by him," Christine countered, standing to place her dirty dishes in the sink.

"Liar," Meg replied, smiling at her friend.

"I wasn't!" Christine said, laughing. "How could I possibly be?"

Meg shrugged. "I don't know…you always have been."

Christine allowed the water to run over the dishes, silent for the moment.

She looked over at Meg. "Why do you think all this is happening?" She asked quietly.

The smile faded from Meg's face. "I'll be honest, Christine. I've spent countless hours trying to answer that question. I think Erik has too. I haven't been able to come up with anything, and as far as I know, neither has he."

Christine nodded. "Perhaps we're being punished," she suggested.

"Or rewarded," Meg countered.

Christine smiled at her friend. "I'm glad you're here, Meg."

"Not as glad as I am that you are," Meg replied.


	11. The Balcony

**_Wow. Lots of feedback! I guess we all have strongopinions on Carlotta and Raoul, huh?_**

**_A good question was raised…someone mentioned that they understood Christine's reincarnation, as she was related to Christine, but didn't understand how everyone else came back. Reincarnation, in this story, doesn't necessarily happen in the same family line. I'm not planning on delving too deeply into the family lines of Lauren/Meg, Emily/Carlotta or Edwin/Raoul._**

**_Sometimes people just come back! And I promise, it's for a reason._**

**_Mind the rating in this chapter, ok? It's not bad, but still…_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

****

Christine couldn't sleep. She and Meg had talked late into the night…so late, in fact, that Christine had relented and agreed to stay in Erik's home for one more night.

She didn't see the harm, really. After all, she had barely spoken to Erik since arriving. And knowing that Meg was in the room next to hers made her feel safe and secure within the walls of this strange yet intriguing place.

Christine turned onto her back and flipped the satin covers away from her body, finally giving up on sleep. Too many thoughts were coursing through her mind; too many questions.

Up until recently, Christine's life had been following a fairly predictable course. She had finally found success within the walls of the Paris Opera House, something she had strived for through her intensive training during her childhood. Everything had seemed to be falling into place.

Until _he_ had reappeared.

Erik. The very thought of him sent goose bumps over Christine's body. She hadn't been able to really speak to him…to really understand what his intentions were…what he wanted from her.

Of course, she could assume. After all, she had spurned him; revealed his true identity to an audience of hundreds, which surely compromised his very guarded existence.

Many times after Christine rowed away from Erik and his lair she had thought about him. She had always hid this fact from Raoul, who would balk at the mere mention of their experiences within the walls of the Opera Populaire.

Her marriage to Raoul had been a series of disappointments. Not to say that they weren't generally happy together, but, in hindsight, it seemed that Raoul's premonition that Erik would be haunting their lives together seemed to be true.

The first obstacle Raoul and Christine faced was the fact that they could not conceive a child. More than anything, Raoul had wanted an heir. No matter how they tried, how many doctors they visited, no children came of their union.

The desperation and guilt Christine felt over the situation immediately placed a strain on the relationship. She felt that Raoul blamed her for not being able to have children. Although he denied that this was the truth, his entire demeanor towards Christine had changed. Gone was the doting Raoul who promised to take care of her forever, replaced with a disappointed man who would lash out over nothing at all.

Christine's room at Erik's mansion had a large marble balcony, overlooking the rolling hills of the Paris countryside. It was cold out; a bitter snow was falling again. She wrapped a quilt around herself and padded out onto the icy marble, breathing deeply as the winter air whipped her hair about her shoulders.

"You would think that a professional singer would have more common sense than to freeze to death."

Christine turned around slowly. Erik stood behind her on the balcony, his white shirt open to his waist, tucked haphazardly into form-fitting black leather pants.

The sight of him made her smile despite herself.

"I see you've gone headfirst into the 20th century," she commented, gesturing to the modern pants. Erik looked down at himself briefly and then shrugged.

"I'm not completely adverse to modern fashion," he explained. "I fit the part of the insane musician, do I not?"

Christine laughed. "I suppose," she relented. "It will just take a little getting used to."

Erik smiled, walking a bit closer. "It's a beautiful view," he commented, standing next to her.

Christine nodded. "I've never seen anything like it."

They stood together in silence, appreciating the snowy evening. Christine stole a glance at the man at her side, slyly taking in the curve of his jaw, the fullness of his lips…his muscular physique.

He suddenly turned to her, causing her to blush and look away.

"I haven't had the opportunity to thank you, Erik," she said softly. "For saving my life."

Erik remained silent.

"If it hadn't been for you, I don't know what…"

"Best not to think about it," Erik interrupted, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation.

"I don't even really know what compelled me to go back down there," Christine continued.

Erik looked at her, his eyes intense. "I do," he replied quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

"Erik," Christine said, facing him. "Why did you bring me back here?"

Erik sighed. "You almost died…I wanted to take you somewhere you could recover properly…"

"No," Christine shook her head. "You could have easily brought me to a hospital. Or found someone to take care of me."

"If you haven't noticed, Christine, I'm not exactly a social butterfly," Erik interrupted. "The sight of me…it's too much for most…I'm not accepted…the questions that would arise…I could not…"

"Erik," Christine said softly, noting the pain in his voice. "Times have changed. Many people have scars…disfigurements. Honestly, your…your face…it's not even that bad."

Erik scoffed.

"Truly, Erik," Christine insisted. "There are people out there who have much worse physical problems…"

"And that is supposed to make me feel better?" Erik said, his voice elevated a bit. "Have they lived as long as I, each day revolted by the reflection of themselves?"

Christine swallowed hard. "You may have lived longer, but your disfigurement is nothing to be ashamed of…or to hide…especially when the rest of you is so…"

She stopped, realizing that she was about to utter the word "beautiful."

"So acceptable," she finished, finding the word less suggestive.

"Acceptable," Erik scoffed. "I have never been accepted."

"That isn't true, Erik," Christine protested. "I…I accepted you."

"You denied me," Erik said quickly.

"I didn't deny you because of the way you look, Erik," Christine said. "You murdered…lied to me…deceived me!"

"Inconsequential," Erik replied, waving his hand. "Had I looked more like _him_…"

"Raoul's appearance had nothing to do with my decision," Christine said coldly.

"And just how did that decision work out for you, Christine?" Erik asked.

Christine looked at him. "Don't do this, Erik."

"I'm curious," he continued. "Did he fulfill all his promises? Did he promise to keep you safe…to love you…"

"Stop it," Christine said, her voice becoming more angry.

"Did he provide your life with the wishes and hopes you shared with _me? Did he live up to your expectations?"  
_

"Not another word!" Christine yelled.

Erik smirked. "I suppose I have my answer," Erik replied.

Tears began to form in Christine's eyes. "What if I had chosen you?" She demanded. "What if I had stayed…lived with you…become your wife? What kind of life could we have had? You were a criminal! Forgive me if I was not eager to start an existence in shadows, beside a man who could barely accept himself, let alone another human being!"

"Watch yourself, Christine," Erik growled.

"You hadn't the slightest notion of normalcy," Christine continued. "And while I wept for you…felt for your plight…you continued to be the cause of torment…of pain…not only for myself, but for all of the innocents who died at your hands!"

"Silence!" He roared, moving impossibly close to the woman before her. "Don't speak of torment…don't speak of things you know _nothing about!" _

Before she could retreat, she was in his arms. His mouth came crashing down upon hers. His hands found her small waist, possessively holding her resisting body against his.

Christine's shriek of protest was cut short as his tongue found hers, dancing and teasing. He twisted her hair around his hand and arm, locking her body against his.

She placed her hands on his chest and tried to push him away, shocked that such an intimate exchange would occur mere seconds after she was sure he would strike her.

Erik growled, crushing her even closer, exploring her mouth, taking advantage of his strength and her weakness.

For a moment, Christine felt her muscles melt despite herself. She allowed him to explore her body, shivering as his hands moved across one breast, then the other.

He broke the kiss for a moment, smiling wickedly down at her…signaling that he noted her brief lack of resistance.

She took advantage of the opportunity, pulling away with all her might and cracking him hard across the face with an open palm.

He moved back, placing a hand to his stinging cheek.

"I am _not_ the weak, pathetic Christine you fell in love with, Erik," she said breathlessly. "And I will not allow myself to become victim to your seductive manipulation again."

Silently, he stared at her, anger burning in his eyes.

Without a word, he turned from her, leaving her room and slamming the door upon exit.

Christine felt her knees go weak as she landing in a pile of flesh and quilt, sobbing quietly against the pain in her aching heart.


	12. Flicker of Recognition

I_** don't really have any comments…wow, that's a first! **_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**Nico**_

* * *

****

She must have fallen asleep.

Her head was throbbing when she awoke, from crying for several hours before finally collapsing against the softness of her bed.

There was a soft knocking at her door.

"Christine?" Meg's voice called from the other side. "Christine, are you awake?"

"Yes," Christine called back. "Come in!"

Meg appeared, smiling at the doorway. Her face instantly fell when she saw the disheveled state of her friend.

"What's the matter?" Meg asked, hurrying over to the large bed Christine was now sitting up in.

For a moment, Christine remained silent.

Then, she burst into tears.

"Christine?" Meg asked, immediately embracing the shaking woman. "What happened?"

Christine lifted her head from Meg's shoulder. "I have to leave this place, Meg," she sobbed. "I cannot stay here…with _him_."

Meg nodded. "I imagined this would be difficult for you," she acknowledged. "But you belong here, I just know it!"

"What are you talking about?" Christine asked, wiping her nose on her nightgown sleeve. "I don't belong here. I've never belonged with him."

Meg remained silent.

"Meg, don't you think that it's possible Raoul is alive as well? I mean, if you're here…and I'm here…and Erik…don't you think Raoul would be too?"

"The thought has crossed my mind," Meg admitted.

"Well, if he is alive, then I should be with _him_, shouldn't I?"

"Perhaps," Meg said quietly. "But perhaps not…maybe you've been given a second chance…a chance to choose another path…"

"Are you kidding me, Meg?" Christine interrupted, her voice sounding more modern than it had a moment ago. "Are you insinuating I should live here…with Erik? Instead of my _husband_?"

"He's not your husband anymore," Meg replied coolly. "We have different lives now."

"No," Christine shook her head. "We are the same as we were before…just in horribly different circumstances." She stood, pushing her hair from her eyes.

The sound of a loud doorbell rang through the house.

"Crap," Meg said, standing as well. "I have to get that."

"Who is it?" Christine asked, still sniffling.

"Erik's accountant Edwin," she said. "He's scheduled to meet with Erik today."

Christine nodded.

"You should meet him, Christine," Meg said, heading for the door. "There's something about him…something in his eyes I find intriguing."

"I have enough intrigue in my life at the moment, but thanks" Christine replied.

Meg smiled sadly. "I've left some clothing in your bathroom for you to change into…why don't you come down in a little bit? Maybe get something to eat?"

"I'll think about it," Christine said, heading for the bathroom.

* * *

About an hour later, Christine found herself slowly descending the long stairway leading to the main greeting room of the mansion, dressed in Meg's stylishly ripped jeans and a modest black tank top. On her feet were flip-flops, allowing her small pink toenails to peek out beneath the flair of the pants.

She felt underdressed, but didn't really care.

Laughter was coming from what Christine assumed was the mansion's equivalent to a living room.

The sound made her pause in her descent.

So familiar…

She rounded the corner at the base of the stairway, finding Erik and another man sitting comfortably in the sparsely decorated room.

The man had his back to her, yet there was something about his presence that made the hairs on the back of Christine's neck stand up.

"Mimi," Erik said, calling Christine by her former name. "Please, come in," he said, rising regally.

At his acknowledgement of her, the stranger turned around, looking over at her.

For just a moment, Christine felt a flicker of recognition.

She saw the same flicker in the man's eyes.

"Allow me to introduce you to Edwin Dalee, my accountant," Erik said.

Edwin moved closer to Christine, extending his hand. "It is my sincerest pleasure," he said, grasping her hand.

A memory flooded into Christine's mind.

"_He's perfect," Christine said, running her finger down the baby in her arms' cheek. "Absolutely perfect."_

"_Of course he is," Raoul said, his voice carrying the same indifferent coolness it had for the past year or so. _

_Christine ignored the tone, too consumed with love over her new son to acknowledge it. _

"_I must meet with the adoption agency once more, just to finalize everything," Raoul said, putting his coat back on. _

"_Raoul," Christine said quietly, looking up at him. "You just got back from the agency. Can't you stay for just a bit longer? With myself and your son?"_

_Raoul looked down at the sleeping baby, an unidentifiable look clouding his eyes. _

"_I will return shortly," Raoul replied coldly. _

_Christine nodded. Had she been under any other circumstances, she would have argued with her increasingly cold husband. _

_But here, now, with her new son in her arms, she could think of nothing else. _

_Raoul regarded his wife and new son for a moment before leaving without another word. _

"Mimi?" Erik's voice interrupted her thoughts softly. "Is everything alright?"

Christine blinked. Both Edwin and Erik were staring at her as she had not made a movement for several moments.

"Yes, fine," Christine replied. "Just a little tired."

"It's the Christmas season," Edwin offered. "Wears everyone out."

Christine nodded, unable to stop looking at Edwin's eyes…she was sure she had never met him before…yet there was something about him…

Edwin noticed her stare and cleared his throat. "If there's nothing else, Erik, I had better get going if I'm going to make it to the bank before it closes."

Erik was still regarding Christine. "That will be all, Edwin." He said, his eyes fixed on Christine. "Thank you."

Edwin nodded, closing his leather briefcase. "Then I shall see you in two weeks."

He pulled on his coat and stood before Christine. "It was a pleasure to meet you," he said, bending to kiss her hand.

Christine's tongue felt as if it was glued to the top of her mouth.

"I'll show you out," Erik said, finally breaking his stare at Christine.

As the men left the room, Christine all but collapsed on one of the velvet chaise lounges in the room. She cradled her head in her hands, trying to still the swarm of emotions buzzing through her mind.

"The passage of time has done nothing for your manners," Erik said, re-entering the room.

"Where did you meet him?" Christine demanded.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "He is the most respected accountant currently living in France," he replied. "Of course, he is American, but I try not to hold that against him."

"I don't trust him," Christine blurted out suddenly.

Erik scoffed. "Luckily, the issue of trust is not one that concerns me when it comes to your relationship with Edwin. I trust him implicitly."

He regarded the woman sitting before him. Her face was starkly white; her eyes were reddened and puffy.

Not doubt as a direct result of their encounter the night before.

Erik cleared his throat uncomfortably. He had been too preoccupied with supplying Edwin with receipts, bank notes, and records of nearly three million dollars, which Erik was planning on relocating to a new, more secure account.

"Christine," he began softly. "I am not in the habit of apologizing for my actions, however, after last night's events…"

Christine held up a hand to stop him. "Please, Erik," she said. "It was difficult enough the first time…let's not relive the moment."

Erik felt as if he had been stabbed. "Perhaps you should let me speak," he said, his voice a little darker.

"Perhaps you do too much speaking," Christine countered.

Erik's eyes narrowed.

"I have rehearsal tonight," she continued. "My managers will be expecting me shortly. I will be requiring a taxi back to the Opera."

Erik's hands clenched into fists.

"You shall be transported back to the Opera," Erik said lowly. "But following this evening's rehearsal, you will return here."

"I most certainly will not," Christine countered. "I do not belong here, Erik."

"Perhaps you did not understand," Erik replied, anger tightening his voice. "The choice is not up to you. You will return here of your own free will, or I shall force you to come back."

Christine stared at him. "Why?"

"You are here for a reason, Christine," Erik replied. "Whether you realize it or not, you have been brought to me…you have been placed back into my life to lay to rest the ghosts of our past…you cannot ignore this precious gift."

"I have not chosen to return," Christine countered. "And the divine power that saw fit to present me as a _gift_," she practically spat the work, "also gave me the gift of free will…and the power to make my own choices."

"Christine…" Erik said in a warning tone.

"If I am to return here, it will be by force," she concluded, sticking her chin out defiantly.

Erik smiled darkly. "That, my love, can be arranged."

* * *

"It isn't fair!" Carlotta wailed dramatically, flopping down on the large bed in Raoul's impressive penthouse apartment. "You practically spent the entire day with _her_."

Raoul sighed. "I barely saw her for more than a moment," he replied.

"A moment is all it took for you to fall in love with her! You saw her on that stage and immediately made up your mind to have her! You told me!" Carlotta buried her face in one of the couple's plush pillows, sobbing hysterically. "You will leave me for her…even after all you owe me!"

Raoul sat next to his lover on the bed. "I will not make the same mistake twice, Carlotta," he said, trying to soothe the temperamental woman.

Carlotta sat up suddenly, her blond hair mussed, her eye makeup streaming down her face. "Remember this," she said, her voice pure venom. "You _owe _me. After what I did for you…for your barren _wife._"

"Carlotta…" Raoul said, trying to stop her.

"I made the _ultimate_ sacrifice for you, on the promise that you would be mine…that you would inherit _her _money…only to discover that there was no money to inherit!"

"And that is why you have come back to me," Raoul explained for the thousandth time. "The final paperwork is in place…it is only a matter of time…"

"I have been waiting for more than a hundred years!" Carlotta burst out. " I have lost everything…given everything…"

"You didn't want the child," Raoul reminded her softly. Carlotta glared at him.

"He was my flesh…my blood…I gave him up on a promise…on a promise from you…"

"He was my flesh as well!" Raoul interjected. "Did I not give him every opportunity? Did he not have a good life? Was he not afforded _every luxury available to a child?_"

"Every luxury besides his true mother!" Carlotta yelled.

"Carlotta…I am trying…you must be patient…"

"My patience is wearing thin, Raoul," she said, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "I will only wait for so long before I take matters into my own hands."

Raoul looked over at her. "What are you talking about, Carlotta?" He asked, aggravated.

Carlotta curled her long legs underneath her and smiled evilly. "That little twit thinks I am her friend…perhaps it is time I reintroduce myself…perhaps it is time for Miss Christine Daae to know the truth."

"You wouldn't…" Raoul said, standing up suddenly.

"Oh, I would," Carlotta replied. "Perhaps it would be best if you kept that in mind."


	13. The Mistake of Letting One's Guard Down

**_Someone commented that this story is getting weird._**

**_We don't have an ordinary love story here people…there's a huge back-story that I'm weaving here. I know there are a lot of loose ends. Don't worry…every chapter will clear up a little more!_**

**_We're getting to some good stuff…just stay with me!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

_"How could this be, Christine?" Raoul demanded, waving a sheet of parchment in front of her. _

_"Please, Raoul, you'll wake up Nicholas." Christine replied._

"_I thought you stood to inherit thousands!" Raoul continued, ignoring her. "How is it possible we only received 200 pounds?"_

_Christine sighed, glancing down at her sleeping baby in his bassinet. "I don't know, Raoul. When father died, his will revealed that I would inherit his fortune upon the birth of my first child. At the time of his death, he had more than eight hundred thousand pounds to his name. I have no idea what happened to it between then and now."_

_Raoul crumpled the paper, throwing it across the room. _

"_Are we in financial trouble, Raoul?" Christine asked. "I thought we had more than enough in the bank…"_

"_That isn't the point, Christine," Raoul snapped. "I was counting on this money…"_

"_For what?" Christine asked. _

"_That's none of your business!" Raoul boomed._

_Nicholas began to cry. _

"_Raoul!" Christine admonished, picking up the child. "It is _certainly _my business! I am your wife! And _my _inheritance!"_

_"You forget your place, Christine!" Raoul bellowed, causing Nicholas to cry even harder._

_"It's alright, shhh…" Christine cooed._

"_You coddle him too much," Raoul noted. _

"_He's a baby, Raoul," Christine replied, looking darkly at her husband. _

"_I know that," Raoul snipped, looking disgustingly at his wife and the baby. "He was a mistake," he added coldly. _

_Christine pressed the baby's head to her chest, covering his ears. "How dare you!" Christine whispered fiercely. "How could you say that about our son!"_

_Raoul didn't reply. _

_Instead he left._

_Returning to his mistress's arms. _

Christine woke up with a start.

Her heart ached.

Nicholas… 

More memories began to flood back…The memory of her only child burned through her very soul…

"Please…" Christine said, trying to will the flashback away…

She could not prevent it.

_Nicholas's first birthday was, without a doubt, spectacular. _

_Christine watched as her son sat before a large cake with his name emblazoned on the icing. For a moment, he simply stared at it, his brown eyes wide. _

_Then, he plunged both of his hands into the dessert. _

_Christine laughed and scanned the crowd of friends and family that had gathered in her and Raoul's impressive home for the celebration.  
Raoul was nowhere to be seen. _

_Christine sighed, too busy playing hostess to concern herself with her husband's whereabouts. _

_He had been absent more than present for the past year of their marriage, why should today be any different? _

_"How are you doing, Christine?" _

_Christine turned to see Marie DeChangy, the wife of Raoul's brother.  
_

_"Oh, I'm fine," Christine replied, forcing her voice to hide the disappointment she felt over Raoul's absence. _

_Marie nodded, smiling knowingly. "He should be here for his son's first birthday."_

_Christine looked up at her. It wasn't like Marie to say such things. "He's a busy man, Marie. His work demands the long hours, no matter what the occasion."_

_Marie nodded again. "Forgive me, Christine. I shouldn't have spoke. I apologize."_

"_Don't worry about it," Christine said, realizing her previous tone was probably less than cordial. "Besides- you're right. He _should_ be here."_

_Marie placed a comforting hand on Christine's shoulder. "If you need me, Christine…" _

_Christine fought back tears. "I'm fine," she replied, walking away from the woman before she saw the tears spill over her cheeks. _

* * *

"Mimi!" A feminine voice was calling from outside her door. "Mimi, open up!"

Christine stumbled from her bed, wincing as the muscles in her legs tightened up in protest of the previous night's late rehearsal.

As quickly as she had opened up the door, Emily bounded inside, carrying a basket.

"It's nearly noon, Mimi," Emily admonished. "You aren't even dressed yet!"

"I was tired," Christine mumbled. "I needed some rest."

"I barely ever sleep," Emily countered.

"Did you need something?" Christine asked, too tired and confused to be kind to the one woman who had reached out for her.

"Well, I was going to invite you to a girl's night," Emily said, pulling a glistening bottle of scotch from the basket. "But now I'm not so sure…"

Christine smiled. Here Emily was trying to be nice…to accept her…

And Christine was being an outright bitch.

"I'm sorry, Emily," Christine said earnestly. "I'm just not feeling…like myself lately."

Emily regarded her for a moment.

Christine did not notice the darkness behind her eyes.

"It's alright," Emily replied sweetly. "It's difficult being the star." She nearly choked on the word. "You need to relax tonight. I'll leave this here…meet me on the roof…let's say at eight?"

Christine smiled. Perhaps she did need an evening to herself.

An evening to stop thinking about everything.

Plus, it would be difficult for Erik to force her return to his home if she was in the presence of company.

"That sounds lovely," Christine agreed. "I will be there."

Emily's ruby lips curved into a smile. "Wonderful," she proclaimed. "I've got to go, but I'll see you then!"

Christine could not see the evil expression on Emily's face as she closed the door behind her.

The roof was warmer than Christine thought it would be. Luckily, the managers had decided to enclose a portion of the large area for the cast and crew to use between scenes and acts. The enclosure was heated by large lamps that kept the bitter wind at bay.

Emily was already there, smoking a cigarette against the dark night sky.

"It's a filthy habit," Emily announced as Christine drew closer. "I only indulge in special occasions."

Christine smiled. "I can't begin to thank you for inviting me here," she said.

Emily waved her hand and handed Christine a glass of amber liquid. "We all need a night off from time to time." She raised her own glass. "Cheers!"

Christine hesitated for a moment and then gulped down the bitter alcohol. She winced as it burned her throat.

"More?" Emily asked, picking up the bottle.

"Please," Christine nodded. Emily smiled and filled Christine's glass again.

"How long have you been performing, Mimi?" Emily asked as she finished filling the glass.

Christine took another swig. "My whole life," she admitted. "My whole fucking life."

Emily laughed.

The sound bothered Christine for some reason.

"I suppose that's how you become great," Emily reasoned.

"Or insane," Christine said, finishing off the second glass.

Emily refilled it without asking.

"Do you not like it here?" Emily asked. Christine shrugged.

"It's alright," she admitted. "I can't imagine being anywhere else. It's just…lately…I've been dealing with some…personal issues."

Emily listened intently, watching as Christine tipped her glass to her lips again. "You can tell me," Emily pried. "I promise to keep your secrets safe."

Christine took another swig, already feeling the effects of the liquid. Perhaps it was inebriation, but Christine felt a whoosh of warmth towards the woman before her.

The only person within the Opera House that had made an effort to befriend her.

"Have you ever felt like you weren't quite yourself…like you're someone else all together?" Christine asked softly.

Emily nodded. "Every day," she replied.

Christine barely heard the confession. She grasped the bottle of alcohol and filled her glass yet again.

"I feel like I have no control…like I've been thrust into situations I have tried to escape before..." Christine continued, slurring her words a bit.

Emily smiled as she watched the woman before her become more and more drunk.

"Are you married, Mimi?" Emily asked suddenly.

Christine looked at the woman before her through half-lidded eyes. "I was…a long time ago."

"A long time ago? What are you…like 20? How long ago could you have been married?" Emily asked, intrigued.

"It seems like a hundred years ago," Christine confessed.

"What happened?" Emily asked darkly.

"He died," Christine said quickly, finishing off her fourth drink.

"I'm sorry," Emily replied, not feeling sorry at all. "How?"

Christine laughed. "Old age." She replied.

Emily cocked an eyebrow. "What was his name?"

Christine smiled. What harm could come of revealing her former husband's name? Emily couldn't possibly know who Raoul was…

"Raoul De Changy," Christine replied.

Emily stiffened visibly. Even though she knew who Mimi really was, hearing Raoul's name come from Christine's lips hurt.

"Did you have any children?" Emily asked, pressing her luck.

Christine looked at her. "Yes," she admitted. "One. Nicholas."

"And where is he?" Emily asked.

Christine turned away from the woman, tears clouding her vision again.

_"Mother, I must go," Nicholas said, his voice firm._

"_I forbid it," Christine replied, fumbling with the ribbon in the back of her grayish hair. "You are going to University, not into a war!"_

"_I have been drafted, Mother!" Nicholas said, thrusting the draft card that held his name in front of her face. "It is my obligation to my country!"_

"He's dead too," Christine replied, her voice hollow.

Emily's eyes darkened. "He had no business fighting in that war," she said slowly.

Christine's head snapped up.

"What did you say?"

"Luckily, his children and wife surely provided you with the comfort you so desperately needed in such a horrible time, did they not?" Emily was now standing, looking impossibly tall in comparison to Christine.

"How did you know that?" Christine asked, her head swimming.

Carlotta moved closer to Christine, causing her to fall back, landing hard on her backside against the roof's cold stone.

"You ruined my life," Carlotta hissed.

"What are you talking about?" Christine stammered, watching as Carlotta pulled a long, thin dagger from her cleavage.

"I will not allow history to repeat itself…I will not allow you to get into the way of my plans again!"

Christine closed her eyes and shrieked as the dagger flashed in the moonlight, heading directly for her heart.


	14. The Aftermath Of Emily

**_A short chapter here. I'm going to ask you guys to mind the rating in the chapter following this one._**

**_Enjoy!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

Being stabbed through the heart felt differently than Christine expected. She felt heavy pressure across her whole body.

It was as if someone was laying on top of her.

Christine opened her eyes, surprised to find she was not in pain.

Her eyes fell onto a human form draped in black.

With a jewel-handled dagger sticking out of his back.

Erik.

Christine scrambled out from under him, surveying the situation as best as her swimming mind could.

Emily was nowhere to be seen.

Christine knelt beside Erik, who was breathing heavily. A steady stream of blood oozed from the dagger which was lodged between his shoulder and spine.

"Erik!" Christine exclaimed frantically. "Erik! Can you hear me?"

Erik groaned, pulling himself painfully to his knees.

"You do nothing but cause me trouble," he said, his voice harsh with pain.

"God, Erik…I have to get you to a hospital!" Christine said, holding him up as he swooned slightly.

"No," Erik rasped callously. "No hospitals."

"Erik…you've lost so much blood…and you have a dagger in your back!" Christine reasoned loudly.

"I am aware of the situation, Christine," Erik replied, grunting as he tried to reach the impossibly placed dagger. Soon enough he gave up and looked at Christine, sweat forming on his creased brow.

"You have to pull it out," he told her.

"Erik…I…I can't!" Christine exclaimed, horrified.

"You must!" Erik bellowed. "Now!"

Christine swallowed, refusing to break down when the man who saved her life…twice now…needed her help. She quickly grasped the dagger's handle, feeling sick as she noticed just how deeply it was lodged within his flesh.

She hesitated.

"Do it," Erik commanded. "Quickly."

He looked at her, his eyes clouded with pain. Christine's brows knotted together nervously.

"I trust you," Erik said softly. "Christine, I trust you."

Fueled by his passionate words, Christine tightened her grasp…

And pulled.

Erik roared simultaneously with Christine's shriek as she removed the dagger.

The force of the motion knocked Christine onto her rear end. Erik waited a moment, and then rose, standing finally to his full six feet.

Christine looked up at the man…he looked positively ethereal.

His long black coat swirled around him. His black as pitch hair hung about his face, over the gleaming white mask that was still in place. His clothing created long, lean lines against the darkness of the evening.

He walked over to Christine, holding out his hand to help her up.

She took his hand, astonished that a man who had just been stabbed was now offering to assist _her._

She stood slowly, the bloodied dagger still in her right hand.

Erik pulled her to him, close enough to wrap a possessive hand around her thin waist.

His mouth hovered just above hers.

Christine licked her lips. "Erik," she whispered. "You need medical attention."

Erik smiled, a slow grin that suggested much more than happiness.

"Do I?" He asked, his voice deep and husky.

Christine nodded. "The dagger," she looked down at the weapon in her hand, "the blade is nearly six inches long…and she plunged it into you up to the hilt."

"I do not require aid, Christine," Erik said softly.

"But you must! I cannot imagine what damage has been caused…what organs have been hit…Erik…"

"Christine," he interrupted her, placing a gloved hand on her cheek.

Slowly, he allowed his hands to run down the length of her arms, finally reaching her hands.

Christine instinctively dropped the dagger.

He pulled her small hands into his and brought them to the top button of his crisp white shirt.

A shirt that was stained in crimson.

He brought her slender fingers to the top button. With her hands underneath his, he undid the top button. He moved her hands down, encouraging her to continue undoing the buttons down the length of the shirt.

In complete silence, Christine allowed her trembling fingers to do as he silently commanded, removing button after button from the eyelet.

He watched her intently as she continued her ministrations…how she bit her pink bottom lip…how she shyly looked up at him from time to time as if seeking his approval.

When the shirt was finally undone, Christine moved her hands to his shoulders, slowly pushing both his coat and the stained shirt from his bronzed, muscular torso.

He turned his back to her slowly, allowing her to inspect the degree of his wound.

Where Christine expected to see a pulsing, gaping wound there was simply a smear of blood.

Her mouth fell open as she moved her hand across the pool of warm liquid, searching for the dagger wound.

Her fingertips found completely healed, smooth skin.

Erik turned back to her, still smiling.

"How is this possible," Christine breathed, her face white.

Erik didn't answer.

"You were stabbed…I pulled the dagger out myself!"

"Christine…there are things I cannot explain further than saying that it has always been this way," Erik replied. "My physical differences go deeper than this," he said, gesturing to his face.

"And this is why you did not want to go to the hospital," Christine said softly.

"There would have been no point," he replied.

Christine took a step backwards. "What are you?" She asked suddenly.

"Pardon me?" Erik asked, pulling his shirt back on.

"You're obviously not human…so what are you?"

"I most certainly am human," Erik replied.

"Then how is this possible?" Christine asked again.

"I don't have an answer to that, Christine." Erik said slowly. "I am different."

Christine hugged herself, suddenly feeling impossibly cold.

"Are you alright?" Erik asked.

Christine half-laughed. "Besides the fact that some crazy woman just tried to kill me…and the fact that I'm standing in front of a man who was just stabbed and now has no symptoms of the wound…I suppose I'm alright."

"Have you reconsidered my offer to return to my home?" Erik asked.

Christine looked at him.

"It is obviously not safe for you here," he continued.

"I don't understand why she would do this," Christine said suddenly.

"Perhaps she is jealous," Erik offered.

"But we're not in competition," Christine argued. "She's the lead dancer, not a singer."

"Perhaps you offended her in some way."

Christine shook her head. Then, she suddenly remembered Emily's words to her.

_"He had no business fighting in that war."_

Christine gasped. "My God!" She exclaimed.

"What is it?" Erik asked.

"She knows…she knows about my past…she knows about Raoul…about Nicholas…"

"Who is Nicholas?" Erik asked.

Christine looked at him. For some reason, she had assumed he had known about her son.

"Nicholas was my son," she said softly.

Erik felt rage bubble in his stomach.

She had a son.

With _him._

"How could she have known?" Christine said, oblivious to the pain she had just inflicted on Erik unintentionally.

"Christine, I think it's best we leave," Erik said suddenly. "It is not safe here."

Christine looked at the man standing before her.

He was right. It was not safe for her to remain at the Opera House. She had almost been killed.

By a woman who knew more about her than Christine was comfortable with.

Erik's home was an appealing opportunity…she would be living with Meg…

But also him.

"I will return with you," Christine said slowly. "But only until a more appropriate living situation is arranged."

Erik's eyes darkened slightly. "Very well," he agreed.

Without speaking, he extended his hand to her once more.

Christine hesitated briefly before lightly grasping the much larger hand.

Tenderly he led her to the roof's exit and through the Opera House, into a cab waiting to bring the mysterious couple back to the dark mansion in the Paris countryside.


	15. Something Special

**_Mind the rating. Things will get racier in this chapter, but still! Young ones, turn away!_**

**_I would highly recommend reading this chapter. I usually make it so that people can scan over the smut, but unfortunately, this smut is important to the story. haha!_**

****

"Holy shit!" Meg exclaimed as Erik and Christine entered Erik's home. "My God! What happened? Who's hurt?"

Christine looked over at Erik. Both of them were covered in Erik's blood, which had dried to hard, dark stains on both of their clothing.

"Neither of us is hurt," Erik said calmly. "Christine, perhaps you should get cleaned up, and explain to Meg what has happened."

Christine nodded.

Sometimes she was grateful for the fact that Erik often made her decisions for her.

"Come on, Christine," Meg said, taking her friend's hand. "Tell me everything."

Christine followed Meg, looking over her shoulder just once at the man who seemed to always be in the right place at the right time.

* * *

"And then, I pulled out the dagger," Christine said, leaning back in the bathtub that was steaming with bubbles.

Meg stopped biting her nails for a moment and looked over at Christine from the chair she was sitting on in the bathroom.

"So now you know," Meg said quietly.

Christine opened her eyes. "Know what?"

"That Erik can't be hurt," she said. Christine nodded.

"Apparently not," she replied. "When did he tell you?"

"He didn't," Meg said. "I had only been working here for like a month when I found out."

Christine looked expectedly at her friend, waiting for further explanation.

"I was cleaning the stained glass windows in the music room," Meg sighed. "I don't think Erik ever bothered to clean before I got here. The windows were horrendous…covered in dust. But I couldn't reach all the way to the top. So I decided to climb."

Christine listened, visualizing the tall windows in the music room.

"I thought I had good footing on the sill, but I lost my balance and fell into the glass," Meg continued. "I would have fallen completely out had Erik not been there to grab the back of my shirt."

Christine placed a hand to her mouth.

"He quickly pulled me back in, and once I had regained my wits, I noticed that his shirt was covered in blood...he had leaned onto the sharp glass remaining in the sill."

"What did you do?"

"I freaked out!" Meg replied. "I didn't know him that well…I insisted he let me take him to the hospital, but he refused. I demanded to see the wound. He lifted his shirt the slightest bit…and there was nothing there! No cut, no bruise, no scrape!"

"What did he say?" Christine asked.

Meg shrugged. "Nothing really…I was still very upset over the ordeal…he just sort of glazed over the whole thing."

"So what do you think he is?"

"What do you mean?" Meg asked.

"Well, he obviously can't die…he hasn't been "reborn" as we have…yet he's flesh and blood…" Christine mused.

"I don't know," Meg said. "I just know that he has amazing healing powers, the like of which I do not possess."

"How do you know you don't possess them?" Christine asked.

"About three weeks after my window incident I fell down the stairs here," Meg said. Christine raised her eyebrows. "I know, I'm a klutz," Meg smiled. "But I got a tremendous gash on my forehead," she lifted her bangs to reveal a thin white scar. "It bled like the dickens and took forever to heal."

"I don't have healing powers either," Christine said, lifting her leg from the soapy water to show Meg a decent sized scar on her knee. "I fell off my bike when I was 12…took them almost 40 stitches to close me back up."

Meg shrugged. "So he's different. So what?"

"So what?" Christine repeated. "So don't you think that's amazing?"

"Of course," Meg said. "But we all have things about us that make us special." She held out a large towel. "You done?"

Christine took the towel and wrapped it around herself quickly. "Thanks," she said.

Meg yawned. "I'm exhausted," she said. "Not as tired as you probably are, but tired none-the-less. Are you going to be alright?"

Christine nodded. "I'll be fine."

"Your room is connected to the bathroom here…just go through that door…" Meg began.

"I remember," Christine replied, smiling. "Thank you, Meg."

"Don't worry about it. We'll talk in the morning."

* * *

The mansion was positively frightening at night. Christine stood in her room, clothed in a tank top and black leggings, on loan from Meg. Her nerves were still jumpy, so sleep eluded her. Instead, she had leafed through the several ancient books that lined her room.

Finding nothing entertaining within the contents of the books, curiosity sunk in. Slowly, Christine moved to the door, pausing for only a split second before opening it and heading to the hallway.

She passed dozens of rooms…all empty or sparsely furnished. Christine shook her head, thinking of what a terrible waste all that space was.

At the end of a particularly long hallway was a closed door. Christine frowned. None of the other doors were closed…what made this room so special?

She looked behind her, making sure she was alone.

Then, she pushed the heavy door open.

And gasped.

It was a ballroom. A lavishly decorated, impossibly posh ballroom.

She felt around on the wall next to the door and flipped on a light switch. Immediately, her eyes were filled with the glitter of several large chandeliers.

Despite herself, Christine laughed.

"So you've discovered my dark little secret," Erik said, smiling at her from the ballroom entrance.

"God!" Christine exclaimed, placing a hand to her heart. "You scared me!"

"I apologize," Erik replied, still smiling.

"What's your dark secret?" Christine asked.

"That I like to dance," Erik replied.

Christine laughed. "Really, Erik, why do you have a room like this?"

Erik sighed. "The place came with it; the room's actually never been used."

"What a waste," Christine said.

"I don't exactly do a lot of entertaining, or haven't you noticed?" Erik replied.

"Touché," Christine answered.

Erik moved over to her. He was dressed more casually than she had seen him before…wearing simple black pants and a rumpled white shirt open to the middle of his chest and rolled up to his elbows.

Christine cleared her throat. "Why aren't you sleeping?" She asked him.

"Don't need to," Erik replied. Christine nodded. "Why aren't you?"

"Couldn't," she said, moving slightly away from him.

Erik stopped in his tracks. "Do I frighten you, Christine?" He asked.

Christine bit her lip. "Slightly," she admitted.

"Why?" He asked.

"Are you kidding? I've been frightened of you since I was a little girl! You were always there…this disembodied voice…this strange ghost of a man who showed up in my room…who walked through mirrors…who murdered and lied and dropped chandeliers on people!"

Erik scoffed. "I wasn't intentionally trying to drop the chandelier on _people_ per say," he clarified. "I was creating a distraction."

"And I suppose a simple 'hey look over there,' wouldn't have sufficed?" Christine asked sarcastically.

"Ah, Christine," Erik sighed. "Where are the dramatics in that?"

The two stood in silence, caught up in memories of the past.

"Erik, do you remember the performance of Don Juan Triumphant?" Christine asked.

Erik looked at her. "Like it was yesterday." He answered.

"Why did you kill Piangi? Why not just demand to play the part of Don Juan yourself when you delivered the manuscripts to us at the Masquerade?" She asked.

The truth was, the question had bothered Christine for some time. She had always viewed Erik's murder of Piangi as purely evil and completely unnecessary.

Even for a madman.

"Would you have agreed to perform had I done that?" Erik asked. "Have you forgotten that I was, at that point, wanted and being actively pursued by the policefor the murder of Joseph Buquet?"

"No one could have proved that was you," Christine reasoned.

Erik snorted. "I was labeled as a murderer long before I took Buquet's life," he said. "Any mishap that occurred within the walls of the Opera Populaire was automatically blamed on the mysterious Opera Ghost."

Christine nodded. "But murdering Piangi…couldn't you have simply detained him? Tied him up or something?"

"Christine, hindsight is always 20/20," Erik said, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. "There are many things I would do differently if given the chance."

"For example?" Christine pried.

"I wouldn't have let you go," he said suddenly.

Christine bit her lip again. "Erik," she said softly.

Erik waived his hand. "But again, that's in the past."

Christine looked at him. A pang of sorrow coursed through her.

"I wish I could see your entire face," she said quietly.

Erik's head snapped to attention. "Why?" He asked suspiciously.

"Because," Christine replied. "Because I want to see _you._"

Erik moved closer to her. "There is something I need to discuss with you first," he said.

Christine looked up at him, her entire body aware of his presence. "Yes?" She asked breathlessly.

"Something is happening to me, Christine," Erik said, his voice becoming more excited. "Something that I cannot explain."

"Big surprise," she commented.

"I must express something before I explain," Erik continued. "What is happening has nothing to do with my desire to have you nearby. What is happening, however, directly correlates with your presence."

Christine nodded, enthralled by his excitement.

"You must not think, even for a moment, that I am using you for my own purposes, Christine." Erik said, grasping her hand.

"Why do you need me here, Erik?" Christine asked, her voice husky.

Erik smiled, allowing his bare hand to trace her face, the curve of her lips, the dimple in her cheek. "Because, Christine," he said. "I love you."

Slowly, he leaned down, claiming her lips with his own. Overwhelmed by this man, Christine allowed herself to lean into him, to kiss him back. Rapidly, the embrace intensified. Where their previous two kisses had been under less than tender circumstances, this one spoke of passion…of desire…

Of them.

Erik growled and lifted Christine into his arms, carrying her away from the ballroom.

Christine wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing the pulse that fluttered at the base of his throat.

Erik groaned and kicked in the door to his bedroom.

Christine looked around, noting the sensual personal details of the man who held her in his arms.

Erik brought her immediately to the swan bed that was draped in black silks. She pulled him down with her, resuming their passionate kisses.

Erik allowed his hands to roam her body, slipping beneath her thin tank top, filling his palms with the softness of Christine's breasts.

She sighed and buried her hands in his hair, kissing him deeply.

Her hands pushed the thin white shirt from his body, throwing it in a crumpled heap on the stone floor.

Her tank top immediately followed.

Christine edged back further onto the bed, seductively challenging Erik to follow her. He did, slowly, on all fours, looking for all the world like a lion stalking his prey.

He knelt before her, allowing his tongue to trail a path of liquid fire down her throat, her chest, her stomach.

Christine's hand found the button at the top of Erik's pants.

Suddenly, his hand went to hers, stopping her.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked in a sultry voice.

"I still need to discuss something with you," Erik replied, his breath coming heavily.

"Can't it wait?" Christine asked, moving to suck at the soft spot beneath his ear.

Erik groaned. "I think it's best you see this now," he replied.

Christine pulled away, looking at him quizzically. "_See_ this?" She repeated.

Erik nodded.

Slowly, he took her hand in his and brought it to the white mask that was partially obscured by Erik's black hair.

She caressed the mask slowly, following his fingers as they led her to the mask's edge.

He took a breath. "Take it off," he commanded.

Christine hesitated. "Are you certain?" She asked.

Erik nodded.

Slowly, she obliged, pulling the surprisingly heavy mask from his face.

And then, Christine screamed.

Erik's face was completely healed.


	16. Cause and Effect

_This is a REAL short chapter…I'm writing a love scene as the next chapter, and I want to be able to separate that chapter from others in case people don't want to read the smut._

_I'm taking my time with the next chap, which is about halfway done…so I will prolly post it today…if not today, then tomorrow…_

_Enjoy!_

_-Nico_

* * *

"Christine, put that down," Erik said calmly, moving towards the woman with the fire poker in her hand. 

"No!" Christine said, brandishing the poker while topless and frightened. "What happened to your face?"

"Remember, Christine, I don't want you to think I have an ulterior motive to wanting you nearby," Erik said, moving closer.

Christine backed up another step. "I remember," she said quickly. "Just tell me what the fuck is going on!"

Erik sighed. "When you are close enough to touch, this is what I look like," Erik said, gesturing to his perfectly formed face. "When you leave, it returns to as it was before."

"Excuse me?" Christine asked, lowering the poker slightly.

"Christine, put the poker down," Erik repeated.

Christine looked down at the weapon she had grabbed hastily when Erik's mask had been removed. She hadn't actually intended on harming him, but the sight of him frightened her to the point of rash decision-making.

She laid the poker on the floor and simultaneously picked up her discarded tank top, pulling it on quickly and inside-out.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner," Christine asked quietly.

Erik sighed. "I didn't want you to think that I only wanted you around because of the effect your presence has on my face," he replied.

Christine nodded. "You realize that I can't help but assume that anyway," she said.

"I understand how this seems, Christine," Erik acknowledged. "But I swear to you, on whatever soul I have, that my want of you extends further than my appearance."

Christine regarded him, moving closer, determined to inspect his now perfect face.

She stood before him, her eyes scanning the perfectly smooth surface, his noble nose, dimpled chin, thick hairline.

Both eyes were now framed by dark lashes, the blue of his eyes standing out against the darkness of his brows and hair.

He watched as Christine's hand came up timidly, resting on the newly restored check, caressing gently. Erik could not stop his eyelids from sliding closed against the sensation.

She allowed her fingertips to graze through his hair, down the back of his neck, and finally to rest on his broad, bare shoulder.

"This is a miracle," Christine said.

Erik nodded slowly. "Perhaps God saw fit to reward me…first by bringing you back into my life, and second by giving me the face you deserve to gaze upon."

"Erik," Christine breathed. "Your face was never an obstacle," she said earnestly. "You have always been beautiful to me…even in your darkest moments."

Erik's heart swelled at the confession.

In reality, he was hesitant to show her his face for two reasons…the first being Christine's assumptions, the second was a much more painful possibility…

What if he had showed her his face, only to have her fall in love with his repaired appearance…

And then what if it went back to the way it was?

"Christine," Erik rasped. "I don't know how long this will last…I don't know if…"

"Shhh…" Christine replied, pulling him down towards her. "It doesn't matter."

Kissing Erik now had an entirely different feel.

Where the mask had once bumped and rubbed her face, now Christine could feel the lushness of his lips…the fullness of his cheek…the ease of his jaw as it moved slowly against hers.

He pulled away, resting his forehead against hers, a knot thick in his throat. "Why is this happening, Christine?" He asked softly, sounding more vulnerable than she had ever heard him before. "Why now, after all this time, am I suddenly receiving everything I asked for…everything I _prayed_ for? Why now?"

Christine shook her head against his. "I don't know, Erik." She replied honestly.

"Will it all be ripped away again?" He continued. "Is this the set up for some elaborate punishment…the likes of which I surely deserve?"

"Don't say that…don't even think it," Christine whispered.

"How could I not?" Erik asked, lifting his head and gazing down at her. "Do you realize the devastation I experienced when I lost you the last time?"

Christine bit her lip. "There is a difference this time," she said.

"What difference?"

She looked up at him, her eyes glazing with unpreventable tears. "Last time, I was never yours to lose," she said.

"And this time?" Erik asked hopefully.

Christine smiled, caressing his face once more. "This time, it would seem that I belong with you, Erik."

"How can you be sure?" He asked, tears threatening to overcome him as well.

Christine took his hand silently and led him to a mirror on the far wall of his bedroom…a mirror that had undoubtedly been shattered by a fist.

She turned him to face it, standing just behind him. "Look at what you see, Erik," she said, watching as his eyes gazed at the reflection of his faultless face. "What more proof do you need?"

He regarded her in the mirror.

"Christine," he addressed her. "Do you love me?"

Christine met his burning eyes in the reflection. "From the moment I first heard your voice," she replied.


	17. Dreams Within Their Hearts

**_OK! This is prolly the chapter you've been waiting for!_**

**_If you are adverse to smut, you do not need to read this chapter. You can use your imagination. There are no plot-specific points, although I think it speaks of the development between Erik and Christine. _**

**_I've never written a love scene this long (and it's not really even that long) so be gentle with your reviews! _**

**_And, of course...enjoy!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

It was all he needed to hear.

It was all she needed to say.

She turned to face Erik, filling her arms with him.

Erik returned the embrace, bending slightly at the waist to place a warm kiss on the crook of her neck.

Chills raced through Christine's body.

Especially when he started to hum.

He kept his mouth close to her ear, wrapping his arms around her small waist. Slowly, a tune began to form on his lips…a song Christine all at once recognized.

They began to sway, a small, intimate dance set to a melody that was buried deep within the minds of them both.

_Floating falling…sweet intoxication…_

Christine allowed her lips to trace Erik's collarbone…

_Touch me…trust me…savor each sensation…_

She ran her fingertips across his broad muscular back and picked up the song…

_Let the dream begin…let your darker side give in…to the power of the music that I write…_

Christine looked up at him. "Erik," she breathed. "Make love to me."

His lips crashed down onto hers…and were well received.

As one, they moved to the bed, taking time to touch…to feel elbows…shoulders…stomachs…

Christine pulled away, slowly peeling her tank top from her body for a second time.

Her leggings quickly followed.

Erik felt his breath catch in his throat.

Truly, there was never a greater beauty than Christine Daae.

He moved closer to her, easing her back onto the silk of his divan.

He knelt at her feet, running large hands up her legs, reveling in the muscle of her calf, the curve of her thigh…the flesh of her backside.

He leaned down, placing a tender kiss just below her navel.

Christine gasped.

Erik lifted his head, rewarding the timid Christine with a sly smile.

And then dipped his head again, allowing himself to taste her in the most intimate of areas.

For a moment, Christine's body tensed. Erik ran his hands down her arms as he allowed his tongue to explore her silken folds, finally resting them on top of hers, entwining thier fingers.

Christine relaxed, even arching her back as fiery sensations coursed through her.

Erik reveled in her enjoyment, delighting in her quickened breathing, her soft sighs and moans.

He continued, bringing Christine just to the brink before she gently pulled him away and eased him onto his back, determined to bestow upon him the same pleasure he had given her.

Gingerly, Christine pulled open the button at the top of Erik's trousers, her knuckles grazing the soft black hair that trailed from his navel to points south.

He shuddered as Christine slowly lowered his zipper, revealing an intimate detail…

Erik did not wear underwear.

Christine smiled, looking down at him.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd guess that you planned this," Christine said.

Erik leaned his head back on the plush pillows and smiled with his eyes closed. "I've always been of the opinion that undergarments are a useless addition to one's ensemble."

Christine laughed, and then fell more serious, placing her fingers between the waist of Erik's trousers and the hot flesh of his hips.

Almost painfully slow, she tugged, bringing the material to his ankles and then to the floor, revealing the glory that was Erik.

Christine lowered her head, allowing her mouth to taste just above his hardness…then just below…

Then Erik was completely enveloped in the soft warmth of Christine's mouth.

Immediately, his hands clasped the sheets on either side of his body, the shock of the sensation almost too much to handle.

It became even more torturously wonderful as he felt her tongue move in tiny, calculated circles down the length of him.

He moaned, which encouraged Christine to pick up speed, to taste the salty sweetness of him, to explore all she could, simply using her mouth and pressure.

After several moments, Erik grasped her upper arms.

Christine looked up, her brows knitted together in confusion.

"It's best you stop now," he said, his voice husky, "or I feel this will all be over much too soon."

She smiled as he gathered her into his arms, easing her onto her back while taking the time to kiss her deeply.

Erik propped himself on his elbows on either side of Christine's body, his dark hair hanging into his face as he looked down at her.

He allowed his fingers to run through the thick brown locks that framed her flushed face, kissing each of her eyelids before positioning himself above her.

Both sighed in unison as they were finally joined.

Erik leaned his head into the crook of Christine's shoulder.

For a moment, neither moved.

Then, Christine felt Erik's body shudder, his breath coming in soft sobs.

She lifted his head, looking up at him.

"What's wrong?" She asked. Erik shook his head.

"I've never experienced perfection before," he replied, tears dampening his eyes.

Christine smiled and kissed him, urging him to move gently within her.

Before long, the passion they both felt had heightened into a frenzied dance…motions of lust…of intensity…of trust…

Of love.

They locked eyes as they reached their simultaneous peak, each shouting the other's name as they locked together in an embrace.

Erik lay within Christine for what seemed like an eternity, feeling his rasping breath against her rapid heart beat.

Finally, he rolled to his side, taking Christine with him, entwining his long legs with hers.

"No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy…no dreams within her heart but dreams of love…" Christine whispered slowly.

Erik sighed, bending to place a kiss atop her head, inhaling the clean smell of Christine.

And for the first time in nearly a hundred years, he fell asleep.


	18. Underneath Perfection

**_I'm glad you all enjoyed the smut...this chapter bounces around a bit...backtracking and memories...I think you all are smart enough to follow it...;)_**

**_Now back to the story..._**

**_Enjoy!_**

**_-Nico_**

* * *

Although it was a bitterly cold January day, the sun warmed Erik's face as it never had before.

Christine handed him a steaming cup of coffee, smiling as she noticed his fascination with everything around him.

It had taken some time to convince Erik to leave his home, to step out into the daylight.

She had woken in his arms, his piercing blue eyes watching her sleep.

Christine had smiled up at him, placing a kiss on his chin.

"Good morning," Erik said softly. "You slept well, I trust?"

Christine stretched her legs. "You tell me," she replied. "Weren't you watching?"

Erik's face reddened a bit. "Only for a few minutes," he said.

Christine laughed. "I've made a decision, Erik," she said suddenly. Erik propped his head on his hand, resting on his elbow.

"And that decision would be?" He had asked.

Christine took a deep breath. "I've only one more performance remaining at the Opera House," she said. "I believe that performance will be my last."

"I was hoping you would not return at all," Erik replied. "It isn't safe…Emily…"

"If Emily shows her face, I will immediately call the police," Christine said. "I don't think she would be stupid enough to be at the Opera House anyhow."

Erik lay on his back, looking up at his high ceiling. "Never-the-less," he said. "I shall be accompanying you if you insist upon going back."

Christine smiled and curled next to him, fitting herself in the crook of his arm. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Erik dropped a kiss on the top of her head, wrapping a possessive hand around her waist.

They lay together for several quiet minutes. Erik had nearly drifted off into sleep again when Christine suddenly shot up, propping herself on her elbows. "Erik," she said excitedly, "I have a wonderful idea!"

"Those just might be the five most frightening words I've ever heard," Erik commented.

"Let's go into town today…let's see Paris…all of it…" Christine continued, ignoring him.

Erik scoffed and flipped the sheets off of his naked body, stretching as he got out of bed.

"Oh, come on!" Christine had pleaded, watching his muscles flex from her spot in bed. "You've always been so cooped up…and now…without your disfigurement…you can walk around without feeling like people are staring…you can truly enjoy yourself!"

"Christine," Erik said, facing her. "I've survived just fine for nearly a hundred years without strolling about Paris like some dim-witted tourist."

"You won't even do it for me?" Christine asked, batting her eyes dramatically.

"Dear God," Erik sighed. "It seems that I am already…what's that colorful phrase Edwin uses to describe his fiancé…whipped."

Christine had burst out laughing.

That smile had been on her face the entire day, reveling in Erik's obvious interest of Paris in the daylight.

They had quietly moved through the Louvre, appreciating painting after painting, sculpture after sculpture, photo after photo.

Erik had reveled in the artistry, the like he had only seen in books.

They had taken a stroll down the Champs-Elysees, stood beneath the Arc de Triomphe, and finally ended up at the base of the Eiffel Tower, where they now sipped their hot coffees.

"So?" Christine said, blowing on her drink. "What do you think?"

Erik nodded. "It's different," he answered.

"Different good or different bad," Christine asked.

Erik considered the question, and then looked at the woman standing next to him.

Her cheeks and nose were bright pink, responding to the chill in the air. Erik had given Meg a hefty sum of money the previous day instructing her to select an entirely new wardrobe for Christine. Today, she wore a long black coat with red trim, black pants and a bright red scarf that was covered with her golden brown locks.

"Any time you are nearby it is good," Erik replied honestly.

Christine's eyes softened and she leaned in to kiss him.

"Excuse me," a female voice interrupted the moment.

Christine and Erik turned to see a young woman holding the most enormous camera Erik had ever seen.

"I'm sorry," the slightly chubby woman said, smiling. "I was just wondering if the two of you would mind terribly if I took your picture."

Erik's eyebrows raised. "Why?" He asked suspiciously.

"I'm a professional photographer," the woman explained. "And the two of you make such a beautiful couple…and the scenery," she gestured to the enormous Eiffel Tower, "well, it doesn't get any better than this."

Christine wrapped her arm around Erik's waist. "Did you hear that?" She asked him. "We're a _beautiful _couple."

Erik smiled down at her.

"What do you say?" The photographer asked.

Christine looked up at Erik who nodded slightly.

"Okay," Christine said, pulling Erik even closer. "Go for it."

The photographer looked through her camera for a moment and then pulled it away from her face, which held a contemplative look.

"Would you mind terribly if I asked you to kiss?" The photographer asked. "I think it would capture the romance of the moment."

Christine smiled again, leaning up at Erik to receive a kiss.

Erik slowly lowered his mouth to hers, unwilling to pass up an opportunity to taste her.

Even if the gesture _was _about to be recorded on film.

"Perfect," the photographer declared after snapping a few shots. She walked over to them. "Truly, you should both consider modeling," she commented, handingErik her business card. "Give me a call if you guys are ever interested in making some money of your great looks."

"Thank you," Erik said, looking down at the small card in his gloved hand.

Christine wondered if the photographer truly knew how grateful Erik had been to receive such unabashed compliments.

As the woman left, Christine hugged Erik tighter. "What a perfect day," she sighed.

* * *

"What were you thinking?" Raoul demanded. "What on earth were you _thinking_?"

"I hate her," Carlotta said, filing an already perfect nail.

"You've ruined everything!" Raoul wailed.

"Hardly," Carlotta replied, tsking as she looked at her now uneven nail. "She has no idea who I am."

"You're certain you didn't say anything that would indicate who you and I are?" Raoul asked desperately.

Carlotta thought for a moment, knowing full well she had revealed her knowledge of Nicholas. "No," she lied. "I didn't say a thing."

"And you're certain you didn't kill Erik," Raoul pressed. "You're certain he will be alright?"

"Who cares if he is?" Carlotta spat. "You already have all the paperwork you need, don't you?"

Raoul placed his head in his hands, sitting on the edge of a plush armchair. "I need one more signature," he said. "The most important signature."

Carlotta stared at him. "You told me that everything was complete!" She shrieked, throwing the nail file at him.

"I said it was _almost_ complete!" Raoul yelled back, dodging the makeshift weapon. "I still need him to sign over his accounts into my name."

Carlotta placed her hands on her hips. "And just how would you agree to get him to do that?"

Raoul sighed. "He trusts me," he said. "He never reads the paperwork. And now, after what you've done, he's either dead or suspicious…of _everyone._"

Carlotta walked closer to Raoul, her almond eyes narrowed. "You had better figure this out," she growled. "Because now you know what I am capable of." She ran her fingers coldly down the side of his cheek. "And if anyone," she grasped his chin, "_anyone_ comes between me and what I am owed…well…I suppose you know the rest."

Raoul felt his blood go icy.

Carlotta was evil, but he never suspected she would turn against him.

And now she was promising to do just that.

He wished he had never escorted her home that evening so long ago…

"_Brava! Bravo!" Raoul whistled loudly, ignoring the disapproving stares of the patrons who shared his box._

_Christine curtsied again and again, smiling broadly as dozens of roses landed at her feet. _

_It had been nearly a year since the performance of Don Juan Triumphant, a year of rebuilding following the fire…a year without the mysterious Opera Ghost. _

_Christine had reluctantly agreed toact in the Opera Populaire's first major production since the chandelier disaster. _

_Her performance was flawless. _

_As the curtain fell, Raoul left the box, eager to bestow praise upon his young wife. _

_He slipped through the curtains in the back of the box, nearly running into Carlotta. _

_She was standing in the hallway, her hair in a ridiculous upsweep, her clothing at least two sizes too small. In her arms was a fluffy white dog with a bow on its head that matched Carlotta's full skirts. _

"_Vicomte," she greeted him, her voice lilting and authoritative. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"_

"_Hello Carlotta," Raoul said cordially. "I was about to congratulate Christine on her performance." _

_Carlotta's eyes narrowed. "Christine Daae," she said disdainfully. Then, taking on a more seductive tone, she moved closer to him, playfully running her fingers down the front of Raoul's elaborate lapels. "I was actually looking for you," she purred. "I can't seem to find my driver…I don't suppose you could bring me home?"_

_Raoul looked down at her. She wasn't unattractive, he thought…just…so different from Christine. _

_And, as patron of the Opera Populaire, it was his responsibility to ensure the happiness of the cast…especially Carlotta. _

"_Alright," he relented, knowing that Christine would need to change anyway. "But we must be quick."_

_Carlotta's red lips curved into a smile. "Don't worry," she whispered. "This won't take long…"_

Now, she stood before him, radiating a glare of pure evil down at him.

It was then that Raoul realized he had precious little time to make good on his promise of wealth to Carlotta.

It was only a matter of time before her scorn would be taken out on him as well.


	19. The Last Performance

**_Hope you all had a nice weekend!_**

**_I stole something from THE BODYGUARD in this chapter. I couldn't resist. _**

**_As always, enjoy!_**

Nico

* * *

The reception Erik received upon his arrival to the Opera House was extremely different from what he was used to.

Christine clutched his arm tightly as the duo exited the sleek black limousine Erik had chartered to take them from his house to the Opera for Christine's last performance.

Erik's dark hair was swept away from his perfect face; his appearance was more than stunning. Christine looked up at him as they climbed the stairs to the Opera's entrance. He smiled down at her, reassuring her without words.

Together, they entered the lavish Opera which was bustling with activity.

"Mimi!" Bernard came running up to the couple. "Where on earth have you been?" He demanded. "You were scheduled to be in costume more than a half hour ago! We had to run the pre-show rehearsal with your understudy…we thought you weren't returning…" he stopped his tirade to observe the considerably taller man at Christine's side. "Who are you?" Bernard asked suspiciously.

"Bernard," Christine said cordially. "Allow me to introduce Erik, a masterful composer, my private tutor and truest confident."

Bernard scoffed. "And just what have you composed?" He asked condescendingly.

Erik raised a perfectly formed eyebrow.

"He has produced several successful shows," Christine interjected. "In America," she added quickly, knowing that Bernard had never once left France.

"And he is your tutor?" Bernard asked. Christine nodded. "Well," the slight composer harrumphed. "I do hope he has sufficiently prepared you for tonight's performance."

"Mimi will amaze your audience, just as she always has," Erik said, his voice liquid ice over the smaller man's entire body.

Bernard nodded quickly, obviously intimidated by the mysterious man. "Mimi, if you would, they are waiting for you in costuming."

"I'll be right there," she replied. Bernard gave Erik one final disapproving glare before walking away stiffly.

"They never change," Erik commented quietly.

"Bernard is harmless," Christine said, facing him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Erik looked around nervously.

"It's the 21st century, Erik," Christine laughed. "Public displays of affection are no longer frowned upon."

Erik looked down at her and smiled. "In that case…" He pressed his lips to hers softly, sweeping his tongue over hers delicately.

Christine pulled away breathlessly. "I have to go," she murmured.

Erik grasped her hand. "I have something for you," he said quietly, pressing a small object in her palm.

Christine opened her hand slowly to reveal a stunning, ruby encrusted broach. "What is this?" She asked.

Erik pulled his coat open to reveal a matching tiepin, securing his silk cravat in place. "If, for any reason, you feel threatened, simply press the ruby in the center," he demonstrated. Simultaneously, his tiepin emitted a strong vibration and beeped. "I will be at your side in moments."

Christine took the broach back from Erik, turning it over curiously. "Where did you get this?" She asked.

"I had it made," Erik replied. "Specifically for this occasion."

"Ingenious!" Christine exclaimed.

"Christine," Erik said, taking her hands in his. "Please be careful. I cannot bear to lose you again."

Christine stood on her tip-toes and placed a light kiss on Erik's chin. "I'll be fine," she whispered. "Erik, I love you."

"And I you, my angel of music."

She dropped one more kiss on his cheek before hurrying away.

* * *

"And you're certain Emily will not be performing tonight?" Christine asked the young costuming assistant who was hemming her dress rapidly.

"I'm sure Ma'am," the assistant bubbled. "I heard that she ran off with her fiancé after some major issue. Everyone has been talking about it for days now."

Christine remained silent, knowing full well what the "major issue" had been.

"Who will be taking her place?" Christine asked.

The assistant rose to her feet, fluffing Christine's voluminous cream skirts. "Eva Martinese," she said. "Apparently she's very good."

Christine's worry eased.

It appeared that her last performance within the walls of the Paris Opera House would go off without a hitch.

* * *

Erik settled back into his favorite seat in Box Five, ignoring the curious stares of patrons who were unused to seeing someone sitting in the infamous location.

Erik's hand went to his face, subconsciously feeling for the twisted skin he was so familiar with.

His fingertips met smooth, even skin.

Satisfied that he was not going to cause an uproar because of his appearance, he eased again, anxiously awaiting the lift of the curtain.

Backstage, Christine watched as a flurry of activity swirled around her. A make-up assistant dabbed more rouge on her cheeks…two costuming assistants fussed with the last minute details of her enormous dress…a woman stood behind her, adorning Christine's beautiful locks with fragrant rose petals.

And suddenly, they were gone, scurrying to the wings as the first notes of the overture began to play.

Christine stood alone on her mark in complete darkness.

Her hand immediately went to the broach Erik had given her, which she had had one of the costuming assistants sew onto the front of her dress.

She lightly caressed the electronic jewel; its mere presence comforted her.

She could hear nothing but the swell and crash of the overture.

She could see nothing but blackness before her.

Her lack of senses explained why she did not hear the footsteps behind her.

She did, however, feel the sharp pain at the back of her head as she was struck from behind.

Erik scoffed loudly as he listened to the overture. "Pure muddled excrement," he commented. A large woman sitting in the box next to him glared at the comment.

Erik stared back at her until she became uncomfortable and looked away.

He settled back and smiled, pleased that he was still an intimidating presence even without his gleaming mask.

The music had reached its pinnacle and was beginning to descend slowly indicating that the curtain was about to lift.

Erik leaned forward a bit.

He heard the chains that operate the curtain click on, a sound he was almost too familiar with.

His breath caught in his throat as the curtain began to lift.

That breath turned to rage and fear as the curtain revealed an empty stage.

A murmur swept across the audience as the orchestra stumbled, thrown off by the disappearance of their leady lady.

Erik did not hear this, however.

He was already halfway to the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Bernard said loudly, his nasally voice even more piercing due to his anxiety. "Please, be seated! We will resume the performance shortly!"

The heavy velvet curtains whooshed closed, just as Erik's feet reached the stage.

"Where is she?" He demanded of the random, confused cast mates who had milled out onto the stage.

"She was just here!" The make-up assistant declared. "I just finished touching her up _seconds_ before the curtain went up!"

Erik hurried over to the small piece of tape that marked where Christine was to stand. He knelt quickly, ignoring the chattering of the cast.

He ran his fingers over the mark.

Then, something caught his eye.

Several small ruby-red droplets could be seen scattered across the stage.

Erik ran his fingers over one of the drops.

Blood.

Her blood.

"What is it?" A chorus girl asked nervously, looking down at the smear on Erik's finger.

Her eyes went wide. "It's _blood!_" She shrieked, causing instant panic amongst the cast.

"Here now, what is all this nonsense?" Bernard elbowed his way to where Erik was still crouched.

"Call the police!" The chorus girl exclaimed loudly. "Mimi has been _kidnapped!" _

Immediately, the stage was transformed into a frenzy.

It would have reminded Erik of the devastation he had witnessed on the night of Don Juan Triumphant…

If he hadn't already left the stage, in pursuit of whoever had taken Christine Daae from his arms once again.


	20. Bound

_**I'm having a horrendous week...I'm so glad I have you guys reviewing to cheer me up!**_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**Nico**_

* * *

"At least take the gag out of her mouth," Raoul said, his hands clutching the seats of the limo he was sharing with Carlotta and the bound Christine, whose eyes were covered by a silk blindfold.

Carlotta harrumphed. "I'm touched by your concern for her," she said coldly.

The three sat in silence, save the quiet sobs racking Christine's body.

Raoul sighed and leaned across the limo, pulling the gag from his wife's mouth.

Christine took a much-needed deep breath. "Whoever you are, I assure you that you are making a big mistake," she said, her voice wavering.

"Be quiet," Carlotta barked.

"Who are you?" Christine demanded loudly. "I recognize your voice!"

Carlotta smiled suddenly, leaning forward and moving her hand to Christine's blindfold.

"What are you doing?" Raoul hissed. "She'll see us!"

"Let her see," Carlotta said. "We will be certain she won't be speaking to anyone anyway."

She pulled the blindfold roughly.

Christine blinked rapidly.

"Emily!" She exclaimed, fear creeping in her voice. She looked to the man sitting next to her. "Edwin," she identified him. "What is going on?"

Edwin placed his heads in his hands, ignoring her question.

"What do you want with me?" Christine asked, looking pointedly at Emily, feeling vulnerable with her hands tied behind her back.

Carlotta leaned back, crossing her long legs demurely. "What do you think," she said, looking down at Raoul's bowed head. "Should we keep her in suspense?"

Raoul lifted his head, looking at Carlotta. "Please," he whispered. "Don't do this."

"Who are you to say what I should and should not do?" She spat venomously. "You have _failed _me," she told him. "And now I have been forced to take matters into my own hands."

Christine watched the exchange intently.

There was something about this pair…

Something incredibly familiar…

"Who are you," Christine asked, her eyes narrowed.

Carlotta smiled. "Do you not recognize your _husband_?" She drawled slowly.

Christine blanched.

Raoul looked up at her, his eyes glazing with an emotion she could not identify.

"What?" Christine whispered.

Carlotta laughed evilly. "Perhaps you are in need of reintroduction," she said, her voice carrying an air of importance. "Christine Daae," Carlotta addressed her by her real name, causing Christine's insides to tighten. "Allow me to present Monsieur Raoul DeChagny."

Christine placed her hands to her mouth, tears immediately falling from her eyes. "It cannot be," she breathed. "It cannot be!"

"Why should it not be?" Carlotta asked, primping her skirts. "You think you and that _thing_ you have been sleeping beside are the only ones who have been given a second chance?"

Christine's breath hitched on a sob. "Raoul?" She asked, looking at him.

Raoul lowered his head again. "It is me, Christine," he admitted softly.

"What is going on?" Christine asked.

"Don't speak to him!" Carlotta shrieked, raising a hand menacingly. "You had your chance with him…now it's _my_ turn."

"What are you talking about?" Christine asked, unable to take her eyes from Raoul. "This cannot be true! The two of you don't even look like Raoul and Carlotta!"

"Appearance is a minor detail," Carlotta waived a hand. "To be able to _fuck_ that disgusting man, you must agree with that."

Christine felt rage bubble in her stomach. "You will not speak of him as such," she declared lowly.

Carlotta laughed. "I _told_ you, Raoul! She loves him! And you were _stupid_ enough to believe she would want to return to _you_." She laughed harder.

"Shut up, Carlotta," Raoul grumbled.

"Aw, precious," Carlotta purred, snuggling up beside Raoul, all the while staring at Christine. "Don't be jealous. I do believe you were better to be rid of her."

Christine watched as Carlotta draped a long leg over Raoul's lap.

It was obvious she had him under her complete control.

"If the two of you are happy to be _rid_ of me, then why is it I am sitting in this limo?" Christine asked.

Carlotta stopped running kisses down Raoul's neck and looked over at her. "Tell me, Christine," she said, pulling away from Raoul and leaning in closer to Christine. "When you held Nicholas in your arms for the first time, did you not see a hint of who he really was?"

Christine's heart lurched as she listened to the woman's words.

"Did you not recognize his features? Did you not look into his eyes and see they were the same color as his fathers?" Carlotta smiled slowly.

"What is she talking about, Raoul?" Christine asked, still looking at Carlotta. Carlotta grasped a lock of Christine's hair roughly and pulled her a bit closer, causing Christine to gasp and struggle.

"You see, while you chose to use this gift to reconcile with that _evil_ _monster_ that _murdered _my Piangi, I have been working to ensure I am paid what I am owed," Carlotta hissed in Christine's face. "I lost _everything_ to your dreams…" She paused, running a long-nailed finger down Christine's cheek menacingly. "Even my son."

Tears spilled down Christine's face. "It's not true," she whispered.

Carlotta pulled away slightly and placed a possessive hand on Raoul's knee. "You are absolutely correct," Carlotta said. "I meant to say _our _son."

Raoul's eyes met Christine's.

"Is what she is saying true, Raoul?" Christine sobbed. "Was Nicholas your son? With her?"

Raoul nodded miserably.

"Oh my God," Christine sobbed, feeling as if her heart was breaking. "My life…it was a lie…"

"Don't say that, Christine," Raoul said quietly. Carlotta shot him a disapproving look.

"_Your_ life?" Carlotta repeated. "What about _mine?" _

"You were sleeping with her?" Christine asked Raoul, sounding hurt.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say we were _sleeping_." Carlotta said spitefully.

"What do you need with me?" Christine asked, sounding hollow.

Carlotta sighed. "Well, I can't exactly claim back all the years I lost, wasting my time playing second fiddle to _you_," she said. "So, Raoul and I have discovered a different avenue of compensation."

Realization dawned on Christine. "Erik's money," she whispered.

"Such a clever thing!" Carlotta exclaimed sarcastically.

"Erik would never agree to pay either of you _anything_," Christine said vehemently.

"Are you certain, Christine?" Carlotta asked. "I would hope that your life would be worth something as inconsequential as money."

"I would not permit him to pay you a dime," Christine said, anger replacing her fear.

Carlotta laughed. "Then I will have ensure you are not in the position to permit."

Christine watched in horror as Carlotta reached into her purse…

And pulled out a small, shiny pistol.


	21. The Chase

**_Sorry for the delay folks...I'm in the process of moving into my newly aquired house...(a three story victorian with stained glass windows and wood flooring...eek! I'm in love with it!) so between packing up my apartment and dealing with moving, it's been a rough week! I haven't forgotten about this though...don't worry!_**

****

**_Enjoy!_**

**_Nico_**

* * *

Erik had never spoken to as many people as he just had as he rushed out of the Opera House.

He stopped person after person, demanding if they had seen a woman fitting Christine's description…she must have been with others…maybe she had been struggling…or perhaps limp and lifeless in someone's arms.

The last thought caused Erik to shudder.

Finally, a handsome looking couple pointed out a sleek limo that was pulling away from the curb in front of the lavish theater.

"There were three of them," the husband told Erik. "One had a blindfold covering her eyes…and I would say she fit the description of the woman you are looking for."

"Are you certain?" Erik asked frantically, already rushing to his own waiting limo.

"Positive," the wife called after him.

Erik hurried into the limo, sitting in the passenger seat, much to his driver's surprise.

"Follow that limo," Erik demanded a bit harshly.

The driver looked over at him and hesitated only for a moment before flooring the gas.

"Pay no mind to the laws of traffic," Erik said impatiently as the driver slowed at a yellow light that the limo in front of them had plowed through.

"Sir, I already have six points on my license…" the driver said warily.

"I will take full responsibility for any repercussions," Erik said quickly. "Now drive!"

The limo driver, a young man of about 23, looked at Erik again.

Then, a mischievous smile spread his face wide.

His foot hit the gas. Hard.

For some time, they tailed the limo which held Christine…through winding alleyways…down crowded streets…

It suddenly occurred to Erik that whoever had Christine was aware that he was following them.

* * *

"Who is that?" Carlotta demanded loudly, looking out the back window of the limo while still pointing the small gun at Christine. "Why are they following us?"

The second part of her question was aimed at Christine, who, in her heart, knew that it was Erik who was tailing so closely behind.

"I have no idea," Christine lied.

"Driver!" Carlotta shrieked. "Lose him!"

Carlotta's driver nodded once and then began to swerve in and out of traffic, causing both Raoul and Christine to clutch at the limo seats for stability, while Carlotta laughed manically.

* * *

"Slow down," Erik said suddenly. "Keep your distance."

The driver looked over at Erik. "We will lose them," he said.

He was right, Erik realized. The limo in front of them was progressing much to fast…and would not stop until they had lost Erik.

Erik looked out the window at the parked cars lining the streets.

An idea suddenly formed.

"Stop the car," Erik said suddenly.

"What?" The driver asked, puzzled.

"Stop the car, now!"

The driver slammed on the brakes. Before the auto came to a complete stop, Erik was out and running towards a small red sports car.

The driver watched in fascination as Erik quickly punched out the driver's side window, leapt into the driver's seat, fumbled around with the starter…

And then suddenly peeled away from the curb, in hot pursuit of the mysterious limo.

The driver let out a long breath, his adrenaline still thumping.

He would forever wonder what became of the man that had just been sitting in his limo.

The man with the scars twisting across half of his face.

* * *

Erik winced as he grinded into third gear. Researching driving and actually driving were two completely different things, he now realized.

Despite his inexperience, Erik had managed to keep up with the limo in front of him, which had slowed down considerably, its passengers believing they had lost Erik.

He smiled.

It was only a matter of time before he found the people who had dared to take Christine from him once again…

And killed them.

* * *

Christine was in complete despair as the limo pulled up to a large apartment house.

Carlotta's driver had managed to lose the limo following them.

And with that loss came Christine's realization that she only had moments to live.

Carlotta was watching her, a smile playing on her lips.

"Do you think that was your lover, Christine?" She asked coldly.

Christine did not answer.

"Raoul, come to think of it, we should have allowed that thing to follow us," Carlotta mused. "Then he would have been able to watch as we made _her_ pay."

"Carlotta," Raoul said, sounding tired. "If we murdered her in front of him, I don't think that would do much to get him to sign over the paperwork."

Carlotta opened her car door. "We could have threatened her, gotten the signature under duress, and then killed them both," she replied. "Of course that's what I meant."

Carlotta pulled Christine roughly from the limo, shoving her in the direction of the apartment.

* * *

Erik watched this occur from a dark corner directly across from where the limo had stopped.

His body raged as he struggled to be patient, forcing himself to sit in the car and wait until they were inside…to wait until he could ensnare them.

His blood boiled as he watched that cursed Emily emerge from the limo.

But what nearly made him vomit…what nearly made him lose the small fraction of control he had mustered…was the sight of Edwin coming from the vehicle.

It seemed his truest confident had turned against him.

But why Edwin? It didn't make sense! Where had he met Emily…what did they want with Christine?

Erik waited for several more moments, quietly observing his surroundings.

A large tree sprawled up to a window that had just lit up.

Three figures moved within the room, appearing as shadows behind the silken drapery.

The slightest figure he recognized as Christine.

Thinking quickly, Erik got out of his stolen car, his body moving rapidly to the window.

It seemed an element of surprise would be the perfect beginning to his ambush.


	22. Interpretations of Eternity

**_My dear readers..._**

**_I am so sorry for my absence...moving into my new house occupied every thought in my head...but I'm glad to say I have completed the move, and now have more time to dedicate to writing. _**

**_And now...after nearly a month of waiting...here is a new chap..._**

**_Thanks for your patience! I only got a FEW hate emails! _**

**_Nico_**

* * *

Carlotta and Raoul had been bickering for the last half hour or so.

Christine sat uncomfortably atop the hard wooden chair Carlotta had tied her to, trying her best to avoid eye contact with her captors.

"Now what?" Raoul demanded, his voice raised.

"Now what?" Carlotta repeated. "Now you go and find that monster and demand he sign the paperwork."

"He will not agree," Raoul said lowly.

"Not even when the love of his life is in mortal danger?" Carlotta asked, pulling out a Polaroid camera from a desk drawer. She moved in front of Christine and pointed the camera at her. "Smile, darling," she said evilly.

Christine bowed her head, hoping that by obscuring her face she would not give Erik any reason to sign anything.

Carlotta, realizing what Christine was doing, reached beyond the camera to grasp Christine's chin, forcing her to face the brilliant flash.

"There," Carlotta announced, pulling the developing photo from the camera. She waved it a few times, urging the photo to develop faster. "Take this to him, Raoul." She instructed.

Raoul made no movement.

"Take it!" Carlotta shrieked.

Raoul placed his hands to his temples. "Carlotta," he whispered, sounding like a man at the end of his rope. "I cannot do this."

"You must!" Carlotta insisted, flinging the picture at his feet. "Do it now!"

Raoul moved closer to her, his face red with anger. "No," he said forcefully. "You started this…_you_ finish it."

With that, he threw the picture back at her and moved to another room, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment, Carlotta stood in silence, too stunned to move.

Then, she approached Christine.

She raised her hand and cracked it across the bound woman's face.

"This is all _your_ fault," Carlotta yelled.

Christine felt blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, but made no indication of pain.

Carlotta moved about the room, her hands on her hips, fuming.

She let loose a primal scream of frustration.

"FINE!" She screeched. "_I WILL GO!" _

Christine watched as Carlotta rapidly prepared for her journey. She slipped a dagger between her breasts; the small gun she had produced earlier found its place in a holster attached to her thigh.

She moved towards the door, turning around, staring at Christine viciously.

"If you move…even _blink_…I will ensure that his death is as painful as possible." She whispered harshly.

Christine took comfort in the fact that Erik could not be harmed…but Carlotta's words frightened her all the same.

The door slammed behind Carlotta, leaving Christine alone in the house with Raoul…

Who slowly emerged from the back room upon hearing Carlotta's exit.

He stared at Christine, his heart suddenly aching at the sight of her bloodied face.

"Christine," he said softly. "I am so sorry…for all of this."

"Don't speak to me, Raoul." Christine returned. "You and I have nothing to say to each other."

"I owed her, Christine…I thought I was doing the right thing," he continued, ignoring Christine's last comment.

"The right thing?" Christine repeated. "You _lied_ to me…you brought me the child you had with _her_…you deceiving, despicable _monster!" _

"Shut up!" Raoul screamed, placing his hands to his head. "I only did what I had to do to make you _happy! _You wanted a child! _Demanded _a child! I did what I _had to do!_"

"I pity you, Raoul," Christine said, her soft voice contrasting starkly with Raoul's outburst. "I pity how you have chosen to live out this second chance."

"I was given a second chance to make things right for Carlotta," Raoul said, his voice filled with despair.

"I suppose that is one interpretation," Christine replied. "Another could be that you were given this chance to make things right with me."

Raoul stared at her as if that possibility had never entered his mind. "I provided a good life for you," he told her.

"Keep telling yourself that, Raoul," Christine replied. "Glass houses look beautiful from the outside, but it is what is inside that truly matters." She twisted uncomfortably in her seat. "And it is now painfully apparent to me that the glass house you constructed for us was completely hollow."

"That's not true," Raoul breathed, his voice harsh. "I loved you…I loved Nicholas…" he murmured.

"You loved my money, Raoul," Christine replied bitterly. "And as for Nicholas, you never even gave him a proper goodbye."

"I perished the day he died," Raoul answered angrily.

"No," Christine shook her head. "You died long before that."

Raoul looked at her, tears brimming on his lashes.

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, burying his head in her lap.

"Christine…Christine…forgive me…I did it all for you…and all for nothing…" He wept, dampening her skirts with his tears.

Christine watched his bowed head. She _did_ pity him…

But she could never forgive him.

"How dramatically reminiscent," a cold voice pierced the room. "And here I was certain I could trust you, Edwin…or shall I call you Raoul?"

Raoul jerked his head up, his puffy eyes taking in the sight of Erik.

"Erik…" he said, his voice full of emotion. "I...I am sorry…for everything…I am truly sorry…"

"Spare me," Erik replied, anger surging inside of him. He moved quickly over to Christine, unraveling her hands from behind her. She immediately threw herself into his arms, feeling safe as he enveloped her.

Raoul watched, sniffling pathetically.

"Now," Erik drawled, gently pushing Christine behind him. "Whatever shall we do with you, Raoul?"


	23. Bested

**_Glad to see you guys are still reading..._**

**_This is not the final chapter!_**

**_Enjoy!_**

**_Nico_**

* * *

Raoul had always lived a pampered life. Even upon his resurrection, he had been born into money…a sort of cosmic continuance of what he had been used to in his former life.

He had been trained by the finest swordsmen…he knew how to fire a pistol with nearly perfect accuracy.

He should have been more than prepared for life threatening situations.

Yet now, as he stood in front of a very angry Erik, he was fully prepared to die.

Never before had Raoul noticed the ethereal qualities Erik possessed. His stormy eyes had darkened the same way the sky does when a thunderstorm appears on the horizon. Although there was no breeze coming into the lush apartment that Erik had basically bought for Raoul, Erik's long black duster flowed about his ankles. A light seemed to radiate from Erik's very being…a bright aura of power, strength and vengeance.

What frightened Raoul most, however, was what was happening to Erik's face.

When Erik had first entered the room, (by what means, Raoul was unsure) his face had been without the standard white mask. Instead, the usually covered portion of his features was exposed, revealing twisted, malformed skin which pocketed and seemed to rip away from the bone in a grotesque protest to existence.

But ever since Christine had touched the deformed man…ever since she had thrown herself into his waiting arms…Erik's face had begun to transform. The skin was rejuvenating, smoothing out…healing. It was as if whatever Erik was made of was alive…twisting and repairing…until Raoul was staring at the ideology of perfection.

As Erik's face healed, he seemed to grow stronger. His face flushed, his muscles flexed.

Raoul knew already that he had been bested.

"Erik," Raoul said, addressing the man after what seemed an eternity of silence. "There are no reparations I could possibly make to you or Christine."

At the sound of her name, Christine peered over Erik's shoulder, staring coldly at the man who was once her fiancé.

"You waste our time with obvious declarations," Erik interrupted.

"You have obviously won, Erik," Raoul countered. "She always loved you. Through our entire marriage she loved you." He turned to match his eyes to Christine's. "And I see that she loves you now."

Raoul sighed, sitting on an overstuffed leather chair. "It seems that my lot in life has been to destroy the lives of those around me."

"And it would also seem, my darling Raoul, that those whose lives have been destroyed by you have come to seek revenge."

Raoul, Christine, and Erik turned to the new voice in the room.

Carlotta stood in the doorway, her hair mussed, her skirts dirty. Her breath was coming rapidly; her small pistol shaking in her right hand.

"What are you _doing_ Raoul?" She demanded. "They stand before you, yet you do _nothing!_"

Raoul stood slowly. "There is nothing left to do, Carlotta." He turned around to face Erik and then whispered. "It's over."

Christine knew that Erik felt the same twinge of pity for Raoul that she felt.

For a moment that seemed split into eternity, Raoul and Erik locked eyes, wordlessly apologizing and forgiving.

Erik lowered his sword.

Simultaneously, Carlotta shrieked.

"_WEAK!_" She screamed, raising the pistol…

and firing.

Erik immediately threw himself atop Christine, knowing that if the bullet struck him he would survive, but if it struck her, he would lose her again.

The deafening sound of a bullet being released from its chamber echoed throughout the apartment and out into the streets of Paris.

Shortly after the unforgettable sound, a loud thud was heard.

Erik turned his head…

And locked eyes with Raoul, who was now laying on his back, bleeding onto his lush carpeting.

Raoul looked at him and smiled.

Erik nodded back.

Then, he watched as Raoul's eyes went black with the darkness of death.

Christine looked over at the dead man, closing her eyes gently against the image.

Slowly, Erik rose, keeping Christine behind him.

Carlotta stood motionless, her face pale, the arm holding the pistol still raised.

"He's dead," she said numbly.

"Yes," Erik confirmed. "And you killed him."

Carlotta raised her eyelids, suddenly looking at Erik.

"My God," she whispered. "My God…"

Christine watched in horror as Carlotta suddenly lifted the pistol to her temple, tears streaming down her pale face.

"Carlotta…no!" Christine shrieked, stepping closer to the mad woman, desperate, for whatever reason,to prevent more destruction.

She was too late.

Carlotta fell anti-climactically onto the floor, in sync with the second bullet fired from her gun.

Her blood mingled with Raoul's, her pale hand resting on his coincidentally.

Christine buried her head in Erik's chest, horrified that she felt relief over the death of her enemies.

"Come Christine," Erik cooed. "Come with me, away from death forever."


	24. Forever, It Seems

**_Readers..._**

**_Thanks again for inviting me into your lives. I may or may not write an epilogue to this. _**

**_I'm considering writing another POTO fic...but it depends on how badly you guys want it..._**

**_This was great fun for me to write...and I hope you find the finale as touching as I hope it was. _**

**_Thank you all so very, very much!_**

**_Be well, _**

**_Nico_**

* * *

****

Erik watched Christine as she slept, her breath coming in even, undisturbed levels. He allowed his fingertips to graze her bare shoulder, running down her back.

Christine moved in her sleep, a smile spreading her face just slightly.

He still couldn't believe that she was here; that she was his. After the horrors of the previous night, Erik had taken Christine back to his home, soothing her with words of love and eternity. She had listened, received his kisses, and placed the entire core of her being into trusting him.

Erik's happiness was plagued by one, terrible thought that would not escape him, no matter how he tried.

While he was blessed (cursed?) with immortality, Christine was not.

She would age and wither, eventually leaving him again to his grief.

The thought shook him to his very soul, which had seemingly returned in exchange for the absence of his scars.

Christine's eyes suddenly fluttered open, meeting Erik's, which were damp with tears.

"Erik?" Christine asked, confused. "What's wrong?"

Erik shook his head, willing the tears back into the recess of his mind. "Nothing, my love," he whispered, leaning to drop a tender kiss at the base of her throat. "Nothing."

"You say so," Christine whispered back, running her hand up through his hair as he kissed the swan-like column of her neck. "But I think it is your biggest pretend."

Erik lifted his head to look at her.

"What is troubling you, my love?" Christine asked softly.

Erik considered the question. Never before had he been in a situation which demanded his utmost honesty.

The idea that he now slept beside the one person who did not need him to guard himself was a foreign one…

And it frightened him.

"Christine," Erik began, licking suddenly dry lips. "I cannot bear to lose you again."

Christine smiled. "You needn't have that fear," she replied, pulling his head gently to hers, kissing him gently.

Erik indulged in the kiss; he would never grow tired of the taste of her. "But I will," he said breathlessly, placing his forehead to hers. "Life is so short; I fear that just as I begin to feel as if I have you forever, you will be gone again…"

Christine's brows furrowed. "Where would I go?" She asked.

Erik merely stared at her, his saddened eyes speaking of the eternity that is death.

Christine understood at once. She nodded cryptically.

"Perhaps it is time, then," she said, rising nude from the silken sheets she and her lover had mussed during hours of lovemaking.

Erik watched with intense curiosity as Christine padded over to the far wall of the bedchamber, pulling from the wall a long, sharp sword.

She swung it at the air a few times, in mock battle.

Erik smiled despite himself.

Christine stopped swinging and motioned for him to rise from the bed as well.

"Have you not noticed, Erik?" She asked as he walked towards her. Erik regarded her, confused.

"Noticed what?" He asked.

Christine motioned to her face. "Carlotta hit me," she pointed to the corner of her mouth. "Here."

Erik nodded, remembering.

"Yet, there is no scar…no mark…no bruise," Christine continued.

Erik moved closer, lifting her chin with his forefinger and thumb, inspecting the perfectly formed skin around Christine's mouth.

"I realized it last night; I got up to use the bathroom," Christine continued. "And there is more."

Quickly, before Erik could stop her, Christine raised the sword and brought it to her palm, slicing the blade across her palm, wincing as bright red blood began to pour from the wound.

"Christine!" Erik exclaimed, moving to pull her wounded hand towards him. "What have you…"

"Shhh," Christine cooed. "Watch."

She held her hand out to him, palm up.

Before his eyes, the wound began to twist and grow, sealing and healing with even faster speed than Erik himself healed.

In less than thirty seconds time, Christine's palm was restored to perfection.

Erik ran his thumb over her palm. "How is this possible?" He whispered.

Christine shrugged. "I don't know," she replied. "But I'm guessing for the same reason your face has been healed." She lay her repaired palm against Erik's smooth cheek. "Your love," she said softly, "has made me whole."

Erik pulled her into his arms, emotions overwhelming him.

She was his.

Forever.

"There is more, Erik," Christine said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Erik released her, looking at her quizzically.

"There has been another side effect of your love," she confessed, lowering her eyelids and taking his hand in hers…

and placing it on her stomach lightly.

Erik jerked his head up, looking at her with wide eyes. "A child?" He rasped, his throat tight with emotion.

Tears spilled over Christine's cheeks as she nodded. "A child," she confirmed. "A tiny miracle that is both you and I."

Erik fell to his knees, embracing Christine's legs, weeping.

"I love you," he murmured, pulling her into his lap. "I love you…"

"For eternity," Christine added, kissing him gently.

* * *

_Eternity it seems_

_Stems from our dreams…_

_Don't wait for forever…_

_And never say never…_

_For our ends find the means_

_To exist in our dreams. Nico_


End file.
